“But you are not likely to meet any of them——”
“Why not?” demanded Helen, quickly.
“Surely you do not expect to remain here in New York long enough for that?” said Uncle Starkweather, exasperated. “I tell you, I cannot permit it.”
“I must learn what I can about that old trouble before I go back—if I go back to Montana at all,” declared his niece, doggedly.
Mr. Starkweather was silent for a few moments. He had begun the discussion with the settled intention of telling Helen that she must return at once to the West. But he knew he had no real right of control over the girl, and to claim one would put him at the disadvantage, perhaps, of being made to support her.
He saw she was a very determined creature, young as she was. If he antagonized her too much, she might, indeed, go out and get a position to support herself and remain a continual thorn in the side of the family.
So he took another tack. He was not a successful merchant and real estate operator for nothing. He said:
“I do not blame you, Helen, for wishing that that old cloud over your father’s name might be dissipated. I wish so, too. But, remember, long ago your—ahem!—your aunt and I, as well as Fenwick Grimes, endeavored to get to the bottom of the mystery. Detectives were hired. Everything possible was done. And to no avail.”
She watched him narrowly, but said nothing.
“So, how can you be expected to do now what was impossible when the matter was fresh?” pursued her uncle, suavely. “If I could help you——”