“Betty,” he said, “I don’t think you understand how really important this is to me. If this old lady is who I think she is, all my difficulties are solved.”
“But I don’t see——”
“I’ll tell you, then,” interrupted Allen. There was no doubt but what he was terribly in earnest and something of his excitement communicated itself to Betty.
“You remember this man who died—my client?” he began again, striding along, his hands in his pockets, a furious frown on his face.
“Remember him?” echoed Betty. “When have I had a chance to forget——”
But again Allen interrupted impatiently.
“This old man,” said the young lawyer, and despite herself Betty was impressed by his earnestness, “was, as I think I have told you before, a pretty stubborn fellow. What he believed, he believed with all his heart and, what was more, he never allowed any one to argue with him.”
For the life of her Betty could not see what this had to do with the Old Maid of the Mountains. But she said nothing, merely wrinkling up her nose in bewilderment as Allen rushed on.
“In his younger days,” continued Allen, “he was in partnership with a man named James Barton. Now it seems that this old man, this client of mine, had a bitter quarrel with his partner.
“People who knew both the men when they were young—and I have had occasion to talk to quite a few of them in connection with the case and in hope of clearing up the mystery—say that no one knew the cause of the quarrel and neither of the two men would say a word about it one way or another.”