“Huh! If he did get the money, he’s where even Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t find him by this time. Some one should have followed the fellow and kept watch on him right then. How old was he, Watson?”
“About fifty, I guess. They say he had white whiskers, anyway. Oh, he didn’t know any more than he said he did. He was all right. He had been with old Coventry for years and years, one of those old-time family servants, you know, honest and faithful. Why, he went on something fierce when the old chap died!”
“Say, how much of this guff is real and how much of it is English composition?” asked Lee, suspiciously. “How do you know the negro took on when the old codger died? You weren’t here.”
“Maybe I heard it,” replied George, grinning.
“Yes, and maybe you just made it up, like the stuff about the ghost,” Lee retorted sarcastically. “I’ve heard the yarn two or three times, but I never heard that the negro had white whiskers or that he went into mourning!”
“It’s a fact, though,” declared the other, warmly. “I prepared mighty well on that comp.; talked with half a dozen persons who knew the story. Got most of the stuff from the Widow Deane, though. Old Coventry had been dead only about two years then and folks were still talking about him. The Widow doesn’t think the old chap had nearly as much money as he was supposed to have.”
“She has the little store around on the back street?” asked Starling.
“Yes. She took that as her share.”
“Her share of what?” demanded Lee.
“Why, of the estate. Old Coventry owned the whole half-block right through from Walnut Street to Pine. She rented that house from him until he died; paid a good stiff price, too; and then, when the estate was finally settled, she took it as her share, although she had to pay the other heirs something because they claimed that it was worth more than she had a right to.”