“The lawyer? Of course I do!” exclaimed Bob.
“Then stop at his office on the way to my cabin. Judge Weston will tell you how I came by this box. I’ll not say another word until you talk to Judge Weston.”
Bob felt a trifle mean at seeming to doubt the old man’s word, but he felt he had a right to be assured that everything was all right. So, accordingly, he drove to the office of the lawyer, who had once been a county judge, the title still clinging to him as such titles will.
“Hello, Mr. Beegle, back again!” greeted the lawyer, as Bob and his new friend entered. “Wasn’t everything in the box all right?”
“Why, yes, Judge, I think so,” was the answer. “I only took a casual look inside, but all the papers seem to be there. But I ran into a little trouble after leaving your office,” and he told of the assault on him. “Then this young feller comes along,” resumed Hiram Beegle, “and offers to take me home. But he wants to be sure I didn’t steal this box,” and Mr. Beegle chuckled.
“No, I can testify to that,” said Judge Weston with a smile. “You came into possession of it rightfully and legally. I can see Bob’s point though, and it is well taken, you being a stranger to him.
“But it’s all right, Bob. I handed this box to Mr. Beegle about two hours ago. He inherited it under the will of Hank Denby, a client of mine who died in Fayetteville about a month ago. I have been settling up the Denby estate—what there was of it—and this box comes to Mr. Beegle. I just turned it over to him.”
“And Rod Marbury didn’t have a share in it—did he?” asked the old man.
“He was not mentioned in Mr. Denby’s will,” was the lawyer’s answer. “In fact, I know nothing of this Rod Marbury except what you have told me, Mr. Beegle. And you told me in confidence so I cannot reveal that.”
“Oh, I don’t want to know any more!” broke in Bob. “I just wanted to know, after I heard there was a fight over the possession of this box, that Mr. Beegle had a right to it. Now I’ll take him home.”