ying at the hotel, I believe?"

"Yes, and here we are." Harry King stood an instant--undecided.
Certain things he wished to know, but had not the courage to ask--not
on the street--but maybe seated on the veranda he could ask this
outsider, in a casual way. "Drop in with me and have a smoke."

"I will, thank you. I often run in,--in the way of business,--but I
haven't tried it as a stopping place. Meals pretty good?"

"Very good." They took seats at the end of the piazza where Harry King
led the way. The sun was now low, but the air was still warm enough
for comfort, and no one was there but themselves, for it lacked an
hour to the return of the omnibus and the arrival of the usual loafers
who congregated at that time.

"You've made a good many acquaintances since you came, no doubt?"

"Well--a good many--yes."

"Know the Craigmiles?"

"The Craigmiles? There's no one there to know--now--but the Elder. Oh,
his wife, of course, but she stays at home so close no one ever sees
her. They're away now, if you want to see them."

"And she never goes out--you say?"

"Never since I've been in the town. You see, there was a tragedy in
the family. Just before I came it happened, and I remember the town
was all stirred up about it. Their son was murdered."

Harry King gave a quick start, then gathered himself up in strong
control and tilted his chair back against the wall.

"Their son murdered?" he asked. "Tell me about it. All you know."

"That's just it--nobody knows anything. They know he was murdered,
because he disappeared completely. The young man was called Peter
Junior, after his father, of course--and he was the one that was
murdered. They found every evidence of it. It was there on the bluff,
above the wildest part of the river, where the current is so strong no
man could live a minute in it. He would be dashed to death in the
flood, even if he were not killed in the fall from the brink, and that
young man was pushed over right there."

"How did they know he was pushed over?"

"They knew he was. They found his hat there, and it was bloody, as if
he had been struck first, and a club there, also bloody,--and it is
believed he was killed first and then pushed over, for there is the
place yet, after three years, where the earth gave way with the weight
of something shoved over the edge. Well, would you believe it--that
old man has kept the knowledge of it from his wife all this time. She
thinks her son quarrel