"Any news?" asked Acres of Coleman, whom he met coming out of the courthouse.
"Not a thing. Clerk says no will has been probated there to-day. Briggs was right. There isn't any. He thinks the court will appoint him administrator."
"And he looks his thought," sneered Acres; "been strutting around all the afternoon, swelled fit to burst."
"Well, he may, nobody can tell. See you later," said Coleman, hastening his steps.
"Wait! hold on! I thought you were going in my direction. I wanted to ask you something," exclaimed Acres, detaining him.
"No, I'm going back to the bank. What?"
"Have you seen Mike?"
"Yes, just from his office. Sent for me. No, he says he's in the dark, too," answered Coleman, still struggling against this companionship.
"He's always in the dark. Would be if he knew all about it," Acres grumbled.
At this moment the huge amorphous figure of a man emerged sidewise from the staircase of the National Bank Building. He looked back up the stairs, shot a glance up and down the street, then he moved like a blur around the corner into the darkening shadows. This was a habit he had which the innocent people of the town had not sufficient experience to interpret. He never started forth without looking both ways. He never walked any distance without looking back over his shoulder.