“No, I can’t say that I did. It would have been easier for me if she had died. But a couple of boys happened along and fished her out.”
“Didn’t she yell for help?”
“Sure. But I pretended I was deaf. And that nurse really is deaf—she’s so old. About eighty, I figured. She took care of me and my brother—the kid’s father—when we were children.”
“And where is that nurse now?”
The man shrugged his shoulders.
“Maybe at home—maybe out looking for the kid.”
“That reminds me what I specially wanted to tell you,” remarked Mrs. Fishberry. “So long as they won’t believe I’m the child’s aunt—they call her ‘Amy,’ you know—we’ve got to dig up some pictures and records to prove it.”
“You mean you’ve got to dig them up—at the old house,” corrected Ed. “I’m not going near the place till Monday, and then I’m going to set it on fire.”
“Set it on fire!” exclaimed the other, in horror.
“Sure. If the Trust Company knows that the place is burned, they will give up all hope of finding the will, and hand out the old man’s bonds to me. After all, I’m the real heir. I’m the son, and this kid is only a granddaughter, even if Dad did like her better than me.”