It must have been three days after the funeral that Mr. Carson called one afternoon and asked to see Annie Laurie and her aunts. It was like him, in his thoughtfulness to include her, Annie Laurie thought. She did not know that Charles Carson, who liked almost everybody and who had the best will in the world toward all mankind, nevertheless, knowing as much of human nature as he did, thought it best to take her at once into council concerning matters that would affect her future life.
He was received in the stiff little parlor, the two sisters sitting opposite him in prim dignity, and Annie Laurie instinctively putting her chair near his.
“I am sure you will pardon me for speaking to you concerning your affairs,” he said in his hearty way. “I would not venture to do so uninvited, were it not a matter that in a way concerns me also.”
“Yes, sir,” said Miss Adnah and Miss Zillah in unison. Annie Laurie fixed her reddish-brown eyes upon him with devotion, and said nothing.
“The day before Mr. Pace died,” he went on, “I paid him twenty thousand dollars in cash.”
Annie Laurie stared; the sisters started.
“It seemed to me foolish enough to pass such a sum of money over in simple currency, but as you probably know, your brother”—he was now addressing himself to the elder ladies—“had a prejudice against banks. I wished to give him my check. He said he had no use for checks. He wanted money. It was a curious idiosyncrasy of his, but since he wished it that way I humored him. He put the roll of bills into his pocket—I paid the money to him at Mr. Heller’s bank—and drove away with it. That was Saturday afternoon. He died Sunday. I have come to inquire—with only neighborly motives, I beg you to believe—whether or not you have seen anything of that roll of bills.”
There was a slight pause. Then:
“I have seen nothing of it, sir,” said Miss Adnah.
“Nor I, sir,” added Miss Zillah.