“Good,” he ejaculated. He threw himself back in a chair and had just picked up a newspaper when old Floyd cautiously peered in at the half-open door.
“Come in, come in, Mr. Floyd,” Pole said, cordially. “Early bird, ain't you?”
“They told me Mr. Floyd was here,” the old man said, awkwardly, as he stepped inside and glanced around the room. He was, in the open daylight, even paler and more despondent-looking than he had appeared the previous evening. In his hand he held Nelson's check folded and clutched tightly.
“He's jest gone out,” Pole said, indicating a chair, “set down; he'll be back here in a minute.”
“I—I thought he was up here alone,” the old man stammered.
“Oh, it don't make no difference,” Pole smiled, easily, “me'n' Nelson's jest like two brothers. You see, what one knows the other does. The truth is, me'n' him work together, Mr. Floyd, an' I've been investigatin' that case about his mammy an' daddy fer sometime. I run the whole thing down yesterday, an' come in an' told 'im about it last night after he'd got back from yore house. By gum! the boy broke down an' cried like a child fer pure joy. It would 'a' done you good to 'a' seed 'im. That was an' awfully nasty thing fer a proud young sperit to stand up under, an' you bet gittin' it off was a relief.”
“You mean—” The old man sank heavily into a chair, but he could go no further. He stared helplessly into Pole's inscrutable face, and then his shifting eyes fell guiltily.
“Why, you see,” Pole smiled, plausibly; “all I wanted was a clew to start from, an' after nosin' about whar Nelson's daddy had lived I at last discovered that he was part heir to that property o' yore'n, then, you see, the whole shootin'-match was as clear as a wart on the side of my own nose. The next discovery was the marriage record, an' then I had the whole thing in apple-pie order. You needn't set thar an' look scared out o' yore skin, Mr. Floyd. Nelson 'ud have his right arm sawed off at the shoulder-joint rather'n prosecute you. He told me last night that he'd stand by you. He's got money to burn, an' he'll never let his daddy's brother suffer. He told me jest this mornin'—'Pole,' said he, 'I don't believe Uncle Henry would 'a' kept this back so long ef he hadn't been mighty nigh out o' his head with his own troubles.”
“God knows I wouldn't! God knows that!” sobbed the old man, impulsively. “I meant to tell him the truth the day I met you and told you he was my nephew, but I had a sick spell, and I got to worrying about the little all I had for my old age. I thought you were prying into matters, too, and knew that any question about the titles would make my creditors jump on me, and—”
“I see, I see!” said Pole. Indifference was in his voice, but his rugged face was afire, his great, eager eyes were illumined by a blaze of triumph. “I reckon the proof you showed him was forgery, Mr. Floyd, but of a harmless kind that most any man in trouble naturally would—”