A. Pearson.
This was the letter that the Chief perused with a face of unusual gravity; and then he asked, as he laid it down:
“And your child: you have never heard of her since?”
“Never. I was always a poor correspondent, but I wrote many letters to my sister, to her husband, and to Pearson. They were not answered. The Ulimans were rising people, and they had left their old residence, no doubt. So I reasoned, and I worked on. After a time I was sick—a long tedious illness. When I recovered, and asked for letters, they told me that during my illness some had arrived, and had been lost or mislaid. Then I assured myself that these were from Pearson and my sister; that my little one was safe; and I settled down to my new life. Every year I planned a return, and every year I waited until the next, in order to take with me a larger fortune for little Lea. I became selfishly absorbed in money-getting. Then, as years went by, and I knew my girl was budding into womanhood, I longed anew for tidings of her. I wrote again, and again; and then I set my lawyer at the task. He wrote, and he advertised; and at last I settled my affairs out there and started for the United States. An advertisement, asking news of Pearson or Lea Ainsworth, was sent to a city paper only a week before I sailed, and it was this that caught the eye of Mr. Parks here.”
Again the Chief and Walter Parks exchanged glances, and John Ainsworth rose slowly to his feet.
“Sir,” he said in a husky voice, “Mr. Parks has offered a fortune to the man who discovers the slayer of Arthur Pearson. I offer no less for the recovery of my child.”
The Chief shook his head.
“That search,” he said, “like the other, must cover twenty years.”
“To begin,” said the Australian, “we must find the Ulimans.”
“Who?”