"Oh no! All men are failures until they marry. I'm thinking of what marriage means; of the new duties it brings, of the man's duty to himself, to the woman, and to society; I'm thinking of what lies inside of the man himself."
"Um-m! That's pretty vague."
"I've studied you a long time, Dave, and with a reason. I've studied heredity, too, and—you mustn't marry."
Law stirred in his chair and smiled whimsically. "I've done some studying along those lines, too, and I reckon I know myself pretty well. I've the usual faults, but—"
Ellsworth interrupted. "You don't know yourself at all, my boy. There's just the trouble. I'm the only man—living man, that is—who knows you." For the first time he looked directly at his caller, and now his lids were lifted until the eyes peered out bright, hard, and piercing; something in his face startled Dave. "I was your father's attorney and his friend. I know how he lived and how he died. I know—what killed him?"
"You mean, don't you, that you know who killed him?"
"I mean just what I say."
Dave leaned forward, studying the speaker curiously. "Well, come through. What's on your mind?" he demanded, finally.
"The Guadalupes had to kill him, Dave."
"Had to? HAD to? Why?"