Meantime Uncle John had been busily thinking. It annoyed him to be so composedly defied by a rascally country merchant, and he resolved, if he must fight, to fight with all his might.
So he wired to his agent in New York the following words:
"What part of the Almaquo timber tract burned in forest fire three years ago?"
The answer he received made him give a satisfied grunt.
"No forest fires near Almaquo three years ago. Almadona, seventy miles north, burned at that time, and newspaper reports confounded the names."
"Very good!" exclaimed Uncle John. "I've got the rascal now."
He issued instructions to the lumber company to make no further payments of royalties to Robert West until otherwise advised, and this had the effect of bringing West to the farm white with rage.
"What do you mean by this action, Mr. Merrick?" he demanded.
"We've been paying you money that does not belong to you for three years, sir," was the reply. "In a few days, when my investigations are complete, I will give you the option of being arrested for embezzlement of funds belonging to Joseph Wegg and the Thompsons, or restoring to them every penny of their money."
West stared.