"Ah!" said Mrs. Keith. "I suspected something like this. It's difficult to imagine Dick Blake's going into anything so sober and matter of fact as the paint business. Have you known him long?"
"I met him a year ago, and we spent two or three weeks together."
"But was that long enough to learn much about him? Do you know his history?"
Harding gave her a direct glance. "Do you?"
"Yes," she said; "I gather that he has taken you into his confidence."
"Now you set me free to talk. When I asked him to be my partner, he told me why he had left the army. That was the square thing, and it made me keen on getting him."
"Then you were not deterred by what you learned?"
"Not at all. I knew it was impossible that Blake should have done what he was charged with."
"I thought so, but I know him better than you do," Mrs. Keith said gravely. "What made you jump to the conclusion?"
"You shall judge whether I hadn't good reason. I was in one of our lake ports, collecting accounts, and Blake had come with me. It was late at night when I saw my last customer at his hotel, and I had a valise half-full of silver currency and bills. Going back along the waterfront where the second-rate saloons are, I thought that somebody was following me. The lights didn't run far along the street, I hadn't seen a patrol, and as I was passing a dark block a man jumped out. I got a blow on the shoulder that made me sore for a week, but the fellow had missed my head with the sandbag, and I slipped behind a telegraph post before he could strike again. Still, things looked ugly. The man who'd been following came into sight, and I was between the two. Then Blake ran up the street, and I was mighty glad to see him. He had two men to tackle, and one had a sandbag, while I guess the other had a pistol."