“But it’s a branch strong enough to hold me—and also to interfere with this heirship of yours.”
“Can’t be. There’s no Truesdell so close to John Waring as I am.”
“You think so? Then listen.”
As Miss Mystery told him her story, the man’s face fell, he sat, almost petrified with astonishment, and when she had finished the short but amazing recital, he said:
“My heavens! What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“If you tell—I—”
“Of course you do.”
“And if you don’t tell—then John Waring’s name is left unstained—”
“There is no shadow of stain on John Waring’s name! What do you mean?”