yourself?"

"That afternoon."

"How did you decide that the James Cunningham mentioned in the license
you saw was the younger one?"

"By the age given."

"How did my uncle take the news when you told him?"

"He took it standing," the lawyer said. "Didn't make any fuss, but
looked like the Day of Judgment for the man who had betrayed him."

"What did he do?"

"Wrote a note and called for a messenger to deliver it."

"Who to?" Kirby asked colloquially.

"I don't know. Probably the company has a record of all calls. If so,
you can find the boy who delivered the message."

"I'll get busy right away."

Foster hesitated, then volunteered another piece of information. "I
don't suppose you know that your uncle sent for me next day and told me
to draft a new will for him and get it ready for his signature."

"Did you do it?"

"Yes. I handed it to him the afternoon of the day he was killed. It
was found unsigned among his papers after his death. The old will
still stands."

"Leaving the property to James and Jack?"

"Yes."

"And the new will?"

"Except for some bequests and ten thousand for a fountain at the city
park, the whole fortune was to go to Jack."

"So that if he had lived twenty-four hours longer James would have been
disinherited."

Foster looked at him out of eyes that told nothing of what he was
thinking. "That's the situation exactly."

Kirby made no further comment, nor did the lawyer.

Within two hours the man from Twin Buttes had talked with the messenger
boy, refreshed his memory with a tip, and learned that the message
Cunningham had sent from the City Club had been addressed to his nephew
Jack.

CHAPTER XXIX

"COME CLEAN, JACK"

Jack Cunningham, co-heir with James of his uncle's estate, was busy in
the office he had inherited settling up one of the hundred details that
had been left at loose ends by the promoter's sudden death. He looked
up at the entrance of Lane.

"What do you want?" he asked sharply.

"Want a talk with you."

"Well, I don't care to talk with you. What are you doing here anyhow.
I told the boy to tell you I was too busy to see you."

"That's what he said." Kirby opened his slow, whimsical smile on Jack.
"But I'm right busy, too. So I brushed him aside an' walked in."

In dealing with this forceful cousin of his, Jack had long since lost
his indolent insolence of manner. "You can walk out again, then. I'll
not talk," he snapped.