fty thousand? How could he
have blown so much without even acquirin' a toddy blossom? Or had he
scattered it in the good old way, buckin' Wall Street? But he'd never
seemed like that kind. No, they didn't think he had the nerve to take a
chance on a turkey raffle. So that left the mystery deeper'n ever.

"No chance of him bein' not guilty to begin with, eh?" I suggests.

J. Bayard smiles cynical. "So far as I am able to learn," says he,
"there is just one person, aside from Mrs. Pedders and her daughter, who
believes him innocent. Strangely enough too, that's Norris, who was
teller at the time. He's president of the bank now. I had a talk with
him this morning. He insists that Pedders was too honest to touch a
dollar; says he knew him too well. But he offers no explanation as to
where the securities went. So there you are! Everyone else regards him
as a convicted thief, who scarcely got his just deserts. He's a social
outcast, and a broken, spiritless wretch besides. How can I do anything
kind and generous for such a man?"

Well, I didn't know any more'n he did. "What gets me," I goes on, "is
how he ever come to be mixed up with Pyramid Gordon. Got that traced
out?"

"I sounded Norris on that point," says Steele; "but he'd never heard of
Gordon's having been in Tullington, and was sure Pedders didn't know
him."

"Then you ain't had a talk with Pedders himself?" says I.

"Why, no," says J. Bayard, shruggin' his shoulders scornful. "The poor
devil! I didn't see what good it would do--an ex-convict, and----"

"You can't always be dealin' with Twombley-Cranes," I breaks in. "And
it's Pedders you're after this trip. Come on. Let's go tackle him."

"What! Now?" says Steele, liftin' his eyebrows.

"Ah, you ain't plannin' to spend the summer here, are you?" says I.
"Besides, it'll do you good to learn not to shy at a man just because
he's done time. Show us the house."

I could have put it even stronger to him, if I'd wanted to rub it in.
Had about as much sympathy for a down-and-out, Steele did, as you'd find
milk in a turnip. You should see the finicky airs he puts on as he
follows me into the Pedders cottage, and sniffs at the worn,
old-fashioned furniture in the sittin' room.

It's Mrs. Pedders that comes in from the shop to greet us. Must have
been quite a good looker once, from the fine face and the still slim
figure. But her hair has been frosted up pretty well, and there's plenty
of trouble lines around the