e had a talk with his spy Sim Squires, who had come by
appointment to meet him there. In the sick yellow of the lantern light
the lieutenant had drawn from his pocket and handed to his chief the
sheaf of paper roughly bound in home-made covers of cloth which he had
been commissioned to abstract from its hiding place.

"Hit's done tuck ye everlastin'ly ter git yore hands on this thing,"
commented Rowlett, sourly, as he held it, still unopened, before him.
"But seems like ye've done got holt of hit at last."

"Hit warn't no facile matter ter do," the agent defended himself as his
face clouded resentfully. "Ef I let folks suspicion me I wouldn't be no
manner of use ter ye in thet house."

"How did ye compass hit finally?"

"Thornton's woman always kep' hit in the old hoss-hair chist in ther
attic an' she always kep' ther chist locked up tight as beeswax." Sim
paused and grinned as he added, "But woman-fashion--she sometimes fergot
ter lock up ther key."

Rowlett was running through the pages whose ancient script was as
meaningless to him as might have been a papyrus roll taken from the
crypts of a pyramid.

"Old Caleb," he mused, "named hit ter me thet he'd done put thet paper I
wanted betwext ther leaves old this old book inside ther chist."

He ran through the yellow pages time after time and finally shook them
violently--without result. His face went blank, then anxious, and after
that with a profane outcry of anger he flung the thing to the floor and
wheeled with a livid face on Sim Squires.

"Hit hain't thar!" he bellowed, and as his passion of fury and
disappointment mounted, his eyes spurted jets of fury and suspicion.

"Afore God," he burst out with eruptive volleys of abuse, "I halfway
suspicions ye're holdin' thet paper yore own self ter barter an' trade
on when ye gits ther chanst ... an' ef ye be, mebbe ye've got thet other
document, too, thet ye pretends ye hain't nuver seed thar--ther one in
ther sealed envellup!"

He broke off suddenly, choked with his wrath and panting crazily.
Suppose this hireling who had once or twice shown a rebellious
disposition held his own signed confession! Suppose he had even read it!
Bas had never suspected the real course which Parish Thornton had taken
to safeguard that other paper and he had not understood why Sim had been
unable to locate it and abstract it from the house. Thornton had, in
fact, turned it over to the safekeeping of Jase Burrell, who was to hold
it