"I don't care for compliments. Why have you sought me out?"
"A moment's patience, Mr. Kenyon. I was about to say Crandall—force of habit, sir. As I remarked, it was a capital plan to commit your wife to an insane asylum, and then take possession of her property. Did you have any difficulty about that, by the way?"
"None of your business!" snapped Mr. Kenyon.
"I am naturally a little curious on the subject."
"Confound your curiosity!"
"And so—ho! ho!—you are popularly regarded as a widower? Perhaps you havereared a monument in the cemetery to the dear departed? Ho! ho!"
"This is too much, sir!" exploded Kenyon, in wrath. "Drop this subject, or I may do you a mischief."
"You'd better think twice before you permit your feelings to overmaster you," said the stranger significantly. "That's an ugly secret I possess of yours. What would the good people of Brentville say if they knew that your wife, supposed to be dead, is really confined in an insane asylum, while you, without any sanction of law, are living luxuriously on her wealth? I think, Mr. Kenyon, they would be very apt to lynch you."
"You have nothing to complain of, at least. You are well paid for the care of—of the person you mention."
"I am paid my regular price—that is all, sir."