“Then why isn’t it true?” Macloud demanded.
“My dear fellow, I’m not denying it! I simply want your opinion—what to do?”
“Have you shown this letter to anyone else?”
“Well, you’re a fool to show it even to me. What assurance have you that, when I leave here, I won’t go straight to Annapolis and steal your treasure?”
“No assurance, except a lamblike trust in your friendship,” said Croyden, with an amused smile.
“Your recent experience with Royster & Axtell and the Heights should beget confidences of this kind?” he said sarcastically, tapping the letter the while. “You trust too much in friendship, Croyden. Tests of half a million dollars aren’t human!” Then he grinned. “I always thought there was something God-like about me. So, maybe, you’re safe. But it was a fearful risk, man, a fearful risk!” He looked at the letter again. “Sure, it’s true! The man to whom it was addressed believed it—else why did he endorse it to his son? And we can assume that Daniel Duval knew his father’s writing, and accepted it.—Oh, it’s genuine enough. But to prove it, did you identify Marmaduke Duval’s writing—any papers or old letters in the house?”
“I don’t know,” returned Croyden. “I’ll ask Moses to-morrow.”
“Better not arouse his curiosity—darkies are most inquisitive, you know—where did you find the letter?”
Croyden showed him the secret drawer.