“Strange!” murmured Duane.
“Yes, sir, strange enough, when you realize that Kane Landon occupied these rooms of mine that night.”
“How did that happen?”
“Well, Landon is an old friend of mine,—used to be, that is,—and when he blew in from Denver, with no home and mother waiting for him, and I was just flying off for a few days out of town, I said, ‘Bunk here,’ and he gratefully did. Then next thing I know, he’s gone off to his uncle’s inquest, leaving a note of thanks and farewell! Queer, if you ask me!”
“I do ask you. And I ask you, too, if you’re casting any reflection on Mr. Landon himself?”
“Oh, not that, but you’d think he’d come to see me, or something.”
“Yes, I’d think so. Did he talk to you of money matters?”
“Not to any great extent. Said he had a big mining proposition that meant a fortune if he could get the necessary advance capital. Said he hoped to get it from his uncle.”
“Not meaning by a legacy?”
“Oh, no. Said he was going to bone the old man for it. Which he did, according to the yarn of a fresh office boy.”