Frisco nodded. "You've hit it. Queer chap Carr, a mixture of bravado and fear. He threw down all the fences and walls and left the doors of the house open every night just to show he was not afraid. All the same he never slept but in that tower. I didn't. If any of the greasers had come, they'd have knifed me easy enough. Well Carr went under before his time but by the hand he least expected."
"Who was it?" asked Herrick impatiently.
"Well," drawled the ruffian "it wasn't Mrs. Marsh. We had a talk--"
"I know all about that. I also saw the letter you wrote her."
"Oh, you did. She kept that as an ace. Robin typed it on his blamed machine for me. I wanted to get the money quietly, but the old lady went under in time and spoilt my game there."
"She killed herself," said Herrick curtly.
"Did she now," said Frisco in admiration, "she was a screamer of a woman--not like my wife. Killed herself. Lord," he chuckled.
"Go on with your story."
"It is a story isn't it. Well I guess it was this way. I let Carr keep the money, when he was alive on the understanding that it was all left to me. He made a will in my favour, and then, the devil made a later one giving the money to Stephen with a reversion to me if his bones weren't looked after."
"I know," said Herrick coolly, "and you tried to have Stephen disabled."