silent, with his keen, strong-featured face as immovable as wood. But the justice saw light in a crevice of the mystery and he drove directly at it, with no pretension.
"Charlie," he said, "you were not pleased to see Dabney turn up!"
The drunken creature did not lie.
"No; I didn't want to see him."
"Why not?"
"Because I thought he was dead."
"Because you did not wish to divide your father's estate with him—wasn't that it?"
"Well, it was all mine—wasn't it—if Dabney was dead?"
The justice went on:
"You tried to shoot Dabney on the night he arrived!"
"I don't know," said Charlie. "I was drunk. Ask Clabe."
The man was in terror; but he kept his head—that was clear as light.
"Dabney knew he was in danger here, didn't he?"
"Yes; he did," said Charlie.
"And he was in fear?"
"Yes," said Charlie—"damnably in fear!"
"Of you!" cried the justice with a sudden, aggressive menace.
"Me?" Old Charlie looked strangely at the man. "Why, no—not me!"
"Of what, then?" said Randolph.
92
