north."

"Which proves the story was not published to exploit a hero," commented
Bromley. "But now," he went on brusquely, "we have arrived at the other
story. Do you know, Mr. Tisdale, it is being said in Washington, and, too,
I have heard it here in Seattle, that though your own half interest in the
Aurora mine, acquired through the grub-stake you furnished Weatherbee,
will make you a millionaire at least, you are withholding the widow's
share."

This time Tisdale did not express surprise. "I have had that suggested to
me," he answered quietly. "But the stories of the Aurora are very much
inflated. It is a comparatively new mine, and though it promises to be one
of the great discoveries, the expense of operating so far has exceeded the
output. Heavy machinery has been transported and installed, and Mrs.
Weatherbee could not have met any part of these payments. In all
probability she would have immediately disposed of an interest at a small
price and so handicapped me with a partner with his own ideas of
development. David Weatherbee paid for the Aurora with his life, and I
have pledged myself to carry out his plans. But, Mr. Bromley, do not
trouble about that last half interest. I bought it: the transfer was
regularly recorded; Mr. Jerold has assured me it is legally mine."

"I know what Mr. Jerold thinks," replied the attorney. "It nettled him to
hear me repeat that story. 'Why, it's incredible,'" he said. "'There are
documents I drew up last fall that refute it completely.'" Mr. Bromley
paused, then went on slowly: "Last fall you were in a hospital, Mr.
Tisdale, beginning a long, all but hopeless fight for your life, and it
was natural you should have called in Mr. Jerold to settle your affairs. I
inferred from his remark that you had remembered Mrs. Weatherbee, at
least, in your will." He halted again, then added still more deliberately:
"If I am right, I should like to be prepared, in case of emergency, to
read such a clause in court."

Tisdale was silent. He rose and turned to the west windows, where he stood
looking down on the harbor lights.

"Am I right?" persisted the attorney.

Hollis thrust his hands into his pockets and swung around. He stood with
his chin lowered, looking at the lawyer with his upward glance from under
slightly frowning brows. "Well," he said at last, "suppose you are. And
suppose I refuse to have my private papers read in open court?"

"In that case," answered Mr. Bromley, rising