"All right—if you agree to that. I was in business with him and I—I—didn't play fair—lit out with some of the money." He turned a lowering look on Babbitts. "That's the answer to your question," then back to O'Mally, "I didn't run across him or hear of him in all this time and supposed the whole thing was buried and forgotten till he came into my room Tuesday night. He was blazing mad, said he'd been waiting for a chance to even up, and had at last found me. To keep him quiet I said I'd give him some money. I had some."
"Yes, yes," said O'Mally, nodding cheerfully, "the legacy your uncle left you."
Ford shot a look at him, sharp and quick:
"Oh, you know about that?"
"Naturally. Inquiries have been made in all directions. Go on."
"I hadn't much cash there—a few dollars, but I thought I'd hand him that and agree to pay him more later. He said he didn't want money, that wouldn't square our accounts, and as I went to the desk he came up behind me and struck me. That's all I know."
"Did he say how he'd located you?"
"Yes. He'd been looking for me ever since I'd skipped but couldn't find me. Then he saw my name in the papers after the Harland suicide. Some fool reporter spoke to me in the street that night and I told him who I was and where I worked. A short while after Sammis phoned up to the Black Eagle Building, heard from Miss Whitehall I'd left and got from her my house address."
"Did he say what he was doing in Philadelphia?"
"He had some new job there, he didn't say what, but he said he was well paid. That came out in his blustering about not wanting my money."