"Um!... That young man didn't suspect—he knew," said Scattergood, reaching automatically for his shoes. "What he wanted to know was—has it been found?... Um!... Not a will. Somethin'. Somethin' he's afraid of bein' found.... Hain't the kind of feller I'd like to see spendin' old Solon's money.... Guess you and me'll go through them papers ag'in."
So with minute care Bob and Scattergood examined the documents and memoranda and receipts and accounts of Solon Beatty, but no will, no minute reference to Farley Curtis, was discovered. They went again to Solon's house to question Mary and to rummage there with the hope of falling upon some such hiding place as the queer old man might have chosen as the safe depository of his will. Mary Beatty was not helpful; middle-aged, with wasted youth behind her; she was even resentful that her meticulous housekeeping should be disturbed.
Scattergood and Bob sat down in the parlor, discouraged. It was evident there was no will. Solon had neglected to attend to that matter until it was too late.... Scattergood wiggled his feet uneasily and stared at the motto over the door.
"Solon didn't run much to religion," he observed.
"No," said Mary Beatty.
"Um!... Have a Bible, maybe? One of them big ones?"
"Up in his room, Mr. Baines. It always laid on the table there—unopened."
"Opened it yourself lately, Mary? Been readin' the Scriptures out of that p'tic'lar book?"
"No."
"Um!... Got a kind of a hankerin' to read a verse or two," said Scattergood. "Come on, Bob. You 'n' me'll peruse Solon's Bible some."