“Well?” queried his hearer, with twitching jaw.
“What lay, nameless, in Annalaka churchyard,” said Kent gravely, “now rests in its own place at Hedgerow House. The marks found by Gansett Jim were made by us. So your alarm is groundless. But I wish that you might have heard the little prayer made by that simple country lawyer over your son’s grave. Once in a while I meet with a really, through-and-through good man like Adam Bain, and then I have to reconstruct my whole formula of the average cussedness of human nature.”
Alexander Blair’s clenched hands went to his temples in a singular gesture, and dropped again. “What interest did Schlager and Bain have in the matter?” he added in a low tone.
“Why, Schlager had done some dirty work for you, and wanted to even accounts with his own conscience. As for Bain, we needed a third man we could trust. I asked him and got him. It was no small risk for him. If you felt that his risk is worth some reward, you might—”
“Yes, yes!” interrupted the other eagerly. “Do you think a thousand—or perhaps more—”
Kent smiled. “By thinking hard I could think a thousand,” he said. “But not more, in this case. It wouldn’t be safe. Bain might not survive the shock. Thank you very much, Mr. Blair.”
“And now,” said the older man, “I am still in the dark as to your interest in the matter.”
“Mine? Why, for one thing, I dislike to leave any affair unfinished. I have the satisfaction of knowing now that this is forever settled and done with. Besides there was a promise—practically a promise—as near a promise as I often permit myself to go, in a world of accidents, errors, and uncertainties—made to Mrs. Blair. Is she back from Europe?”
“She is at Hedgerow House.” Blair communed with himself for a time, then said abruptly, “By the way, do you think your friend Mr. Sedgwick would come over to a pick-up dinner before we leave?”
Kent’s face lighted up. “Ask him,” said he heartily, “and see!”