"Well--in a measure. Did you ever think he was romancing when he talked about his moneys?"
"I did not--and I don't. He was in earnest. I never knew him tell a lie when he was in earnest. I'd match his veracity against my own."
"Then it's queer--it's queer. At the time of his death we held securities for him representing some ten thousand pounds lent on mortgage; the bankers held about as much more. His widow turned into cash everything that there was to turn, with the exception of the house, which she will neither sell nor let."
"I know. It's going to rack and ruin; they say no one's set foot in it since the day he was buried."
"I daresay--it's one of her notions--she'll let no one even talk of it; it's her bogey. Altogether she's had scarcely thirty thousand pounds."
"It's in the house."
"Not it. It's been thoroughly searched by competent hands; she herself has overhauled it more than once."
"The money must be somewhere; I'm convinced he had it."
"Have you any notion where it is? Can you give me any sort of clue as to its possible whereabouts?"
"Not I. I know no more about it than--this cigar. Is it likely? I wasn't his man of business--you were."