"In Albany."
"Do you know his name?"
"I think it is Spikeman. Why?"
Garrison was looking at her again with professional coldness, despite the fact that his heart was fairly burning in his breast.
"Because," he said, "I learned from your stepbrother, Paul Durgin, near Rockdale, that your uncle made a later will, and we've got to get trace of the document before you can know where you stand."
Dorothy looked at him with her great brown eyes as startled as a deer's.
"Another will!" she said. "I may have lost everything, after all!
What in the world would become of Foster then—and Alice?"
"And yourself?" added Garrison.
"Oh, it doesn't make the least difference about me," she answered in her bravery—bravery that made poor Garrison love her even more than before, "but they all depend so much upon me! Tell me, please, what did you find out about Foster?"
"Not a great deal," Garrison confessed. "This new will business was my most important discovery. Nevertheless, I confirmed your story of a man whom your uncle greatly feared. His name, it seems, is Hiram Cleave."