Storm got on his feet.
"Then you do not believe this explanation, Abner—that the gold comes from the hearth?"
"I do not," replied Abner, and his voice was deep and level. "There is tallow on these coins!"
I saw Abner glance at the iron poker and watch Storm's hand.
But the old man did not draw his weapon. He laughed noiselessly, twisting his crooked mouth.
"You are right, Abner," he said, "it is Christian's gold, and this tale a lie. But you are wrong in your conclusion. Lance was not killed by a little man like I am; he was killed by a big man like you!"
He paused and leaned over, resting his hands on the table.
"The man who killed him did not guess that riddle, Abner. . . . Put the evidences together. . . . Lance was tied into his chair before the assassin killed him. Why? That was to threaten him with death unless he told where his gold was hidden. . . . Well, Lance would not tell that, but the assassin found it out by chance. He stooped to put the poker into the fire to heat it, and torture Christian. The cakes of tallow were on a hanging shelf against the white-washed chimney; as the assassin arose, he struck this shelf with his shoulder, and one of the tallow cakes fell and burst on the hearth. Then he killed Christian with a blow of the heated poker. I know that because the hair about the wound was scorched!
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