“Now, Sleeman, I want from you a statement of how my father stood with you in money matters.”
An amazed relief expressed itself in Sleeman’s blotched countenance.
“Yes, yes, certainly. Quite simple,” he said, striving to speak calmly.
“Get your papers,” ordered Paul sharply.
Sleeman went to a safe, brought out a tin box and selected some papers.
“There’s the mortgage,” he said. “That’s about all.”
Paul glanced at the document. He knew very little about such matters.
“This is for fifteen thousand dollars. Did you pay him the full amount?” asked Paul, recalling an entry in his father’s red book.
“Yes—ah—the full proceeds of the mortgage,” said Sleeman.
“Sleeman, don’t try to deceive me. I know when a man is lying. Did you give my father fifteen thousand dollars in money?” Paul’s voice carried to Sleeman the fear of death.