"No, sir; I've been with the Coolidges, sir, ever since Miss Natalie was a little girl, and I ain't heard of any trouble that ought to end in murder, sir."
"How old was Miss Coolidge when her father died?"
"She must have been seventeen, sir."
"And since then Percival Coolidge had full charge of the estate?"
"Practically, yes, sir; there was another trustee, but he died; and then, as I understand, Miss Natalie had some funds of her own."
West took a cigar from his pocket, and lit it. Although not altogether clear in his own mind, he had begun to see light. For a moment he smoked in silence in an endeavour to figure out his own duty, while Sexton, nervously clinching and unclinching his hands, watched and waited.
CHAPTER XII
AGAINST A STONE WALL
Was this discovery anything to him? What difference could it make whether Percival Coolidge had died by his own hand, or been treacherously shot from ambush? How would it benefit Natalie Coolidge to have the truth revealed? And, if it would benefit her, why should he devote his time and labour to such an effort? She had cast him off, thrown him aside; her affairs had no further interest for him. Let her lawyer take care of them. These were West's first thoughts.
All true, yet this state of mind brought no satisfaction. He was interested; he could not escape his first impressions of the girl, or drive from him a desire to serve her, whether she wished it, or not. She might, indeed, be in equal danger from an assassin. He could not determine this until he learned the cause of the slaying of Percival. Then, on the other hand, suppose some one else's suspicions were also aroused. Who would they naturally look to as guilty of this horrible crime? There was but one answer—Natalie Coolidge. She was seemingly the only person to directly benefit by this sudden death. All these considerations urged him on, overcame his doubt and indecision. Then he desired to learn the truth himself. His eyes rested on Sexton's anxious face.