ut the little man stopped the sentence in the middle.

"If--if you please," he protested. "Ah--please don't. I don't wish to
know where you put it. Really, I don't, not in the least. I very much
prefer not to know where it is.... Ah--good-day, Mr. Barbour. Thank you
very much."

The general opinion in the office of Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot
concerning the senior partner's queer cousin was strengthened by this
visit. The surmise that Galusha Bangs was a "nut" became a conviction.

But, for the "nut" himself, life during the coming weeks and months
became a much less worrisome struggle. Returning to East Wellmouth,
for the second time laden with legal tender, he delivered his burden to
Captain Jethro, who, in return, promised faithfully never to reveal a
word concerning the sale of his Development stock or drop a hint which
might help to locate its purchasers.

"Course I won't say nothin'," vowed the captain. "I realize that
business men don't want their business talked about. And if them Cabot,
Bancroft and Cabot folks are tryin' to buy in the stock, whether it's
for themselves or somebody else, they'll want it kept dark. No, I ain't
told a soul on this earth and I WON'T tell one. That is satisfactory,
ain't it?"

The shadow of a smile passed across Galusha's face. "Quite, quite," he
replied. "Nothing could be more so unless--"

"Well, unless what?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing. Thank you--ah--thank you very much."

It had occurred to him that, considering the light keeper's
peculiarities, the promise not to tell a soul on earth might be
stretched to include those elsewhere; but he kept the thought to
himself. Captain Jethro did not press his question. The shrewd
old captain was so thoroughly delighted at having sold, and at the
prophesied profit, his troublesome holdings in the Wellmouth Development
Company, that his mood was neither combative nor inquisitive.

Galusha did not tell Miss Phipps of his business deal with the light
keeper. In the first place, his telling her would involve more deception
and, also, might lead to more possibilities of discovery. The average,
well-meaning person, having been driven by relentless fate to the
committing of murder, could scarcely have felt more conscience-stricken
and depraved than did little Galusha Bangs at having lied to Martha
Phipps. Of course, the lies and deceit had resulted in a distinct
benefit to her and had been perpetrated solely with that idea, but this
fact he