he mystery of the murder of
Sissie Larsen!

Fairchild read it with morbidity. Trouble seemed to have become more
than occasional, and further than that, it appeared to descend upon him
at just the times when he could least resist it. He made no comment;
there was little that he could say. Again he read the item and again,
finally to turn the page and breathe sharply. Before him was a
six-column advertisement, announcing the strike in the Silver Queen
mine and also spreading the word that a two-million-dollar company
would be formed, one million in stock to represent the mine itself, the
other to be subscribed to exploit this new find as it should be
exploited. Glowing words told of the possibilities of the Silver
Queen, the assayer's report was reproduced on a special cut which
evidently had been made in Denver and sent to Ohadi by rush delivery.
Offices had been opened; everything had been planned in advance and the
advertisement written before the town was aware of the big discovery up
Kentucky Gulch. All of it Fairchild read with a feeling he could not
down,--a feeling that Fate, somehow, was dealing the cards from the
bottom, and that trickery and treachery and a venomous nature were the
necessary ingredients, after all, to success. The advertisement seemed
to sneer at him, to jibe at him, calling as it did for every upstanding
citizen of Ohadi to join in on the stock-buying bonanza that would make
the Silver Queen one of the biggest mines in the district and Ohadi the
big silver center of Colorado. The words appeared to be just so many
daggers thrust into his very vitals. But Fairchild read them all, in
spite of the pain they caused. He finished the last line, looked at
the list of officers, and gasped.

For there, following one another, were three names, two of which
Fairchild had expected. But the other--

They were, president and general manager, R. B. (Squint) Rodaine;
secretary-treasurer, Maurice Rodaine; and first vice-president--Miss
Anita Natalie Richmond!

CHAPTER XVIII

After that, Fairchild heard little that Harry said as he rambled on
about the plans for the future. He answered the big Cornishman's
questions with monosyllables, volunteering no information. He did not
even show him the advertisement--he knew that it would be as galling to
Harry as it was to him. And so he sat and stared, until finally his
partner said good night and left the room.

That name could mean only on