ould
probably read the published story of his will in their own local papers
in the morning. He wrote at once to Dorothy, under the name of Miss
Root, apprising her of his altered name and his address.

In the morning he was early at his work. Representing himself as
nothing more than the agent of the New York Insurance Company, for
which he was, in fact, conducting his various investigations, at least
in part, he rapidly searched out one after another of the persons whose
names Dorothy had supplied, but all to little purpose.

He found the town very much alive indeed to the news which the _Star_
had blazoned to the world. Hardy had been a well-known figure, off and
on, for many years in Rockdale, and the names of the Durgins and of
Dorothy were barely less familiar.

Garrison's difficulty was not that the people talked too little, but
rather that they talked too much, and said almost nothing in the
process. New trivialities were exceedingly abundant.

He worked all day with no results of consequence. The persons whose
names had been supplied by Dorothy had, in turn, furnished more names
by the dozen, alleging that this man or that knew John Hardy better
than the proverbial brother, if possible; nevertheless, one after
another, they revealed their ignorance of any vital facts that Garrison
could use.

On the following day he learned that Paul Durgin, the nephew credited
with having claimed the body of the murdered man, lived ten miles out
on a farm, amassing a fortune rearing ducks.

Hiring a team, Garrison drove to Durgin's farm. He found his man in
the center of a vast expanse of duck-pens, where ducks by the thousand,
all singularly white and waterless, were greeting their master with
acclaim.

Durgin came out of the duck midst to see his visitor. He was a large,
taciturn being, healthy, strong, independent, a trifle suspicious and
more than a trifle indifferent as to the final disposal of John Hardy's
fortune.

Garrison, at first, found him hard to handle. He had not yet read the
papers. He knew nothing at all of what was being said; and now that he
heard it at last, from Garrison's lips, he scarcely did more than nod
his head.

Garrison was annoyed. He determined on awakening the duck-stupored
being, unless the task should prove hopeless.

"Mr. Durgin," he said, "the reasons for supposing that Hardy was
murdered--poisoned--are far more convincing than anyone really
supposes--and suspicion po