full
well that there was a secret--had been in the atmosphere about him ever
since he could remember. Whether or not this was the solution of it,
Robert Fairchild did not know, and the natural reticence with which he
had always approached anything regarding his father's life gave him an
instinctive fear, a sense of cringing retreat from anything that might
now open the doors of mystery. But it was before him, waiting in his
father's writing, and at last his gaze centered; he read:

My son:

Before I begin this letter to you I must ask that you take no action
whatever until you have seen my attorney--he will be yours from now on.
I have never mentioned him to you before; it was not necessary and
would only have brought you curiosity which I could not have satisfied.
But now, I am afraid, the doors must be unlocked. I am gone. You are
young, you have been a faithful son and you are deserving of every good
fortune that may possibly come to you. I am praying that the years
have made a difference, and that Fortune may smile upon you as she
frowned on me. Certainly, she can injure me no longer. My race is
run; I am beyond earthly fortunes.

Therefore, when you have finished with this, take the deeds inclosed in
the larger envelope and go to St. Louis. There, look up Henry F.
Beamish, attorney-at-law, in the Princess Building. He will explain
them to you.

Beyond this, I fear, there is little that can aid you. I cannot find
the strength, now that I face it, to tell you what you may find if you
follow the lure that the other envelope holds forth to you.

There is always the hope that Fortune may be kind to me at last, and
smile upon my memory by never letting you know why I have been the sort
of man you have known, and not the jovial, genial companion that a
father should be. But there are certain things, my son, which defeat a
man. It killed your mother--every day since her death I have been
haunted by that fact; my prayer is that it may not kill you,
spiritually, if not physically. Therefore is it not better that it
remain behind a cloud until such time as Fortune may reveal it--and
hope that such a time will never come? I think so--not for myself, for
when you read this, I shall be gone; but for you, that you may not be
handicapped by the knowledge of the thing which whitened my hair and
aged me, long before my time.

If he lives, and I am sure he does, there is one who will hurry to your
aid as soon