nd,

"Worth was with me last night, you know, Mr. Cummings."

"I seem to have noticed something of the sort," Cummings said with
labored sarcasm. "And he'd been with that wedding party earlier in the
evening, I suppose."

"With me till Miss Wallace came in." Worth's natural disposition to
disoblige the lawyer could be depended on to keep from Cummings whatever
information he wanted before giving us his own news. "What you got,
Cummings?" I prompted again, impatiently. "Come through."

His eyes never shifted an instant from Worth Gilbert's face.

"A telegram--from Santa Ysobel," he said slowly.

Worth shrugged and half turned away.

"I'm not interested in your telegram, Cummings."

Instantly I saw what the boy thought: that the other had taken it on
himself to apply for the money to Thomas Gilbert, and had been turned
down.

"Not interested?" Cummings repeated in that dry, lawyer voice that
speaks from the teeth out; on the mere tone, I braced for something
nasty. "I think you are. My telegram's from the coroner."

Silence after that; Worth obstinately mute; Barbara and I afraid to ask.
There was a little tremor of Cummings' nostril, he couldn't keep the
flicker out of his eye, as he said, staring straight at Worth,

"It states that your father shot himself last night. The body wasn't
discovered till late this morning, in his study."

CHAPTER IX

SANTA YSOBEL

Of all unexpected things. I went down to Santa Ysobel with Worth
Gilbert. It happened this way: Cummings, one of those individuals on
whose tombstone may truthfully be put, "Born a man--and died a lawyer,"
seemed rather taken aback at the effect of the blow he'd launched. If he
was after information, I can't think he learned much in the moment while
Worth stood regarding him with an unreadable eye.

There was only a little grimmer tightening of the jaw muscle, something
bleak and robbed in the glance of the eye; the face of one, it seemed to
me, who grieved the more because he was denied real sorrow for his loss,
and Worth had tramped to the window and stood with his back to us,
putting the thing over in his silent, fighting fashion, speaking to none
of us. It was when Barbara followed, took hold of his sleeve and began
half whispering up into his face that Cummings jerked his hat from the
table where he had thrown it, and snapped,

"Boyne--can I have a few minutes of your time?"

"Jerry," Worth's voice halted me at the door, "Leave tha