Braden's blood was like ice water as he turned away from the man and entered his grandfather's room. The nurse was reading to the old man. With the young man's entrance, Mr. Thorpe cut her off brusquely and told her to leave the room.
"Come here, Braden," he said, after the door had closed behind the woman. "Have you talked with Anne?"
"Yes, grandfather."
"She told you everything?"
"I suppose so. It is terrible. You should not have made such demands—"
"We won't go into that," said the other harshly, gripping his side with his claw-like hand. His face was contorted by pain. After a moment, he went on: "She's better than I thought, and so is that good-for-nothing brother of hers. I shall never forgive this scoundrel Wade though. He has been my servant, my slave for more than thirty years, and I know that he hasn't a shred of a conscience. While I think of it, I wish you would take this key and unlock the top drawer in my dressing table. See if there is an envelope there, will you? There is, eh? Open it. Count the bills, Braden."
He lay back, with tightly closed eyes, while Braden counted the package of five hundred dollar bank-notes.
"There are fifty thousand dollars here, grandfather," said the young man huskily.
"'Pon my soul, they are more honest than I imagined. Well, well, the world is getting better."
"What shall I do with this money, sir? You shouldn't have it lying around loose with all these—"