When he
returned Bob lost no time in laying the matter before him.
"Um!... Calculated he'd turn up. Natural.... Acted kind of anxious, eh?
What was it he said about a will--or somethin'?"
Bob repeated Curtis's conversation minutely.
"Um!... That young man didn't suspect--he _knew_," said Scattergood,
reaching automatically for his shoes. "What he wanted to know was--has
it been found?... Um!... Not a will. Somethin'. Somethin' he's afraid of
bein' found.... Hain't the kind of feller I'd like to see spendin' old
Solon's money.... Guess you and me'll go through them papers ag'in."
So with minute care Bob and Scattergood examined the documents and
memoranda and receipts and accounts of Solon Beatty, but no will, no
minute reference to Farley Curtis, was discovered. They went again to
Solon's house to question Mary and to rummage there with the hope of
falling upon some such hiding place as the queer old man might have
chosen as the safe depository of his will. Mary Beatty was not helpful;
middle-aged, with wasted youth behind her; she was even resentful that
her meticulous housekeeping should be disturbed.
Scattergood and Bob sat down in the parlor, discouraged.
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