“Did you call me over to buy me a drink?” she asked curiously.
“I have no objections, my dear,” said Henry soberly, “but alcohol was not my main reason. You knew Old Ben Todd, I believe.”
“Yes. I grub-staked him. Gave him fifty dollars. He said he’d cut me in on any strike he made.”
“You knew he was killed last night, did you not?”
Her eyes narrowed a little. “I heard he was,” she nodded.
“It is true, my dear—he was murdered. But evidently Ben Todd was as good as his word—he—that is, you are his sole heir. He wrote a will, in which you get everything he had.”
“He did, eh?” Violet leaned across the table. “What?”
“Who knows? I understand that he made a rich strike.”
“He was throwing money around. That is, he was throwing gold. It must have been a rich strike—don’t you think?”
“Didn’t he tell you where it was?” asked Henry.