always had an accounting every few months. When Julian became twenty-five, three years ago, he was glad enough to leave the principal in his stepfather's hands, for the interest was enough to content him; but lately he had gone far beyond it and—er—requested that the principal be turned over to him. This request was made just after his mother's death."
"Usual reason?" asked Odell.
Titheredge nodded.
"A woman. Naturally, neither his stepfather nor I wished to see his fortune dissipated, and we reasoned with him. We even went to the length of hinting that we would take legal steps to keep the control of the money out of his hands. Sheer bluff, of course, for he was perfectly normal mentally, with no settled vices, and we shouldn't have had a leg to stand on. But he took it seriously and threatened in an outburst of temper to kill himself rather than be kept in leading-strings. There was nothing to it, of course; but you know when the papers get hold of a thing—"
He paused, and the detective asked:
"Did any of the family suggest that it might have been suicide?"
"No. None of them knew of that absurd threat except Lorne, and the idea has never entered his mind. He and I have been busy settling Julian's estate; the terms of his own father's will decree that it be divided equally between the living children, since he died unmarried.
"That is how I happened to be there last night, when I learned from Lorne that not only he but all four of the children have felt a sort of superstitious fear ever since Julian's death that there was something more than coin-
