"You have got to! I tell you it is PROOF, man! The documents are in this house now."
"He forged them, or stole them, as he took the money!"
Laddie just laughed.
"How you do long, and fight, to be convinced!" he said. "I don't blame you! When anything means this much, of course you must be sure. But you'll know your nephew's signature; also your lawyer's. You'll know letters from old friends who are above question. Sandy McSheel has written you that he was with Robert through all of it, and he gives you his word that everything is all right. You will believe him, won't you?"
Big tears began to squeeze from under Mr. Pryor's lids, until Laddie and the Princess each tried to see how much of him they could hold to keep him together-like.
"Tell me!" he said at last, so they took turns explaining everything plain as day, and soon he listened without being held.
When they had told him everything they could think of, he asked: "Did Robert kill Emmet?"
"I am very happy to be able to tell you that he did not. It would have been painful, and not helped a bad matter a particle. Your nephew had dissipated until he was only a skeleton just breathing his last. It's probable that his fear of death helped your son out, so that he got the evidence he wanted easier than he hoped to in the beginning. I don't mean that he is dead now; but he is passing slowly, and loathsomely. Robert thinks word that he has gone will come any hour. Think how pleasant it will be to have your son! Think how happy your home will be now! Think how you will love to see Sandy, and all your old friends! Think how glad you'll be to go home, and take charge of your estate!"
"Think!" cried Mr. Pryor, pushing Laddie away and sitting up: "Think how I shall enjoy wringing the last drop of blood from that craven's body with these old hands!"
What a sight he did look to be sure! Sick, half-crazy, on the very verge of the grave himself, and wanting to kill a poor man already dying. Aren't some people too curious?