“I've gotten all the points your aunt can give me,” said Wade. “And I've heard from Southerland, who seems ready enough to help us. He came here to make his first offer for the land. He wanted to pick it up cheap, but Benson wouldn't have it. He went on and saw the land himself, saw there was coal on it; then he told your aunt he had found a buyer for it and on behalf of this buyer offered five thousand dollars; mind you, he was her legal representative at the time; she had absolute confidence in him. He told her the land was of no value, and urged her to sell. Your aunt always supposed the sale was made to Stark, but Stark never actually held the land; he at once turned it over to Benson, who was then ready to do business with Southerland. Is this clear to you?”
It was horribly clear to Stephen. These facts that Wade had gathered, could only point to one thing. Wade continued:
“I've looked over the old records here, of that time, and I find that Benson held not a single unencumbered piece of property; but within a few weeks of the transaction with Southerland he began to clear things off; and from that time on, the records are thick with transfers of real estate to him. I venture to say, that but for that money he wouldn't be worth a hundred thousand dollars to-day. Of course, I'm outside the strictly legal aspects of the case, but I want to know my ground, and you and I, Stephen, are bound to consider the matter with a dash of sentiment thrown in. Of course we can realize just how great a temptation had presented itself to him. Your aunt had no one, she trusted him absolutely; your father was in the army, he was not a man of any wide business experience and there was nothing to fear from him. Benson had convinced your aunt that the land was worthless, and that she had better get out of it what she could. The game played itself, and he had the strongest motives for dishonesty. Such an opportunity could not have come at a time when he would have been more likely to use it to his own advantage.”
“How do you know all this?” demanded Stephen, astonished at the array of facts Wade had gathered.
“The old records at the court-house, what your aunt remembers, and then my father learned his trade in the old Benson shops, and knows a good deal about your grandfather's failure; and I've picked up a good deal in talk about town.”
In spite of himself conviction was fastening itself upon Stephen, just as Wade intended it should. These facts—many of them outside the cognizance of the law, as he knew—Ben had gathered solely for his benefit. To Stephen the situation took on tragic and awful possibilities. The justice that his aunt demanded, found an echo in his own heart. But there was Benson, the man who had done everything for him, who had denied him nothing, who had been a father to him. He would have liked to escape from the whole miserable tangle, but there was no escape for him, and it was apparent to him that he would either have to sacrifice his aunt or Benson.
He quitted his chair and fell to pacing the floor, and as he tramped to and fro, Wade's relentless logic, the logic of stubborn facts and figures, poured in a steady stream into his ears.
Then Wade went into the purely legal aspects of the case. He told Stephen just what he hoped to do, and how he hoped to do it. Perhaps this was not entirely discreet, but the case he saw, with its spectacular and dramatic possibilities, was like wine to him, it loosed his tongue and made him reckless.
At last Stephen paused in his walk to say,
“But you don't imagine, do you, that Mr. Benson will remain inactive? Suppose he comes forward with facts that offset your facts.”