t, if all was well
with Mrs. Whately and her daughter. It wasn't well, and I set about
making it well. I had no further personal interest than this then.
Later, when my son became interested in the Whately family, I dropped
the matter--first, because I could not go on without giving a wrong
impression of my motives; and secondly, because I knew my boy could make
up to Marjie the loss of their money."

"Phil hasn't any property," the widower broke in, the ruling passion
still controlling him.

"None of Whately's property, no," my father replied; "but he has a
wage-earning capacity which is better than all the ill-begotten
property anybody may fraudulently gather together. Anyhow, I reasoned
that if my boy and Whately's girl cared for each other, I would not be
connected with any of their property matters. I have, however, secured a
widow's pension and some back-pay for Mrs. Whately, and not a minute too
soon." He smiled a little. "Oh, yes, Tell Mapleson went East on the same
train I did in October. I just managed to outwit him in time, and all
his affidavits and other documents were useless. He would have cut off
that bit of assistance from a soldier's widow to help your cause. It
would have added much value to your stock if Irving Whately's name
should have been so dishonored at Washington that his wife should
receive no pension for his service and his last great sacrifice. But so
long as Phil and Marjie were betrothed, I let your business alone."

Judson could not suppress a grin of satisfaction.

"Now that there is no bond other than friendship between the two
families, and especially since Marjie has begged me to take hold of it,
I have probed this business of yours to the bottom. Don't make any
mistake," he added, as Judson took on a sly look of disbelief. "You will
be safer to accept that fact now. Drop the notion that your tracks are
covered. I've waited for some time, so that one sitting would answer."

There was a halting between cowardly cringing and defiance, overlaid all
with a perfect insanity of anger; for Judson had lost all self-control.

"You don't know one thing about my business, and you can't prove a word
you say, you infernal, lying, old busybody, not one thing," he fairly
hissed in his rage.

John Baronet rose to his full height, six feet and two inches. Clasping
his hands behind his back he looked steadily down at Judson until the
little man trembled. No bluster, nor blows, could have equall