“Your father! But I heard that he had died, leaving no son.”
“My poor father is dead, but I am as much alive as you are. Who told you that I was dead?”
“Bradley Wentworth wrote me to that effect.”
“Bradley Wentworth would not be sorry to hear that I was dead, but he knows better. He has seen and spoken with me more than once during the last six months. He was at our cabin in Colorado when my poor father died.”
“He is false and treacherous as he always was!” said Hastings bitterly.
“I can believe that. I consider him to be my bitter enemy, as he was my father’s.”
“Then you know—the secret?”
“You refer to the forgery? Yes. How much do you know about it?”
“Everything,” answered Hastings emphatically.