“Let me see,” said the attorney thoughtfully, “wasn’t Weatherbee the name of the man you grub-staked in Alaska, and who discovered the Aurora mine?”

Tisdale bowed, then added, with the vibration playing softly in his voice:  “And the name of the bravest and noblest man that ever fought the unequal fight of the north.”

“Which proves the story was not published to exploit a hero,” commented Bromley.  “But now,” he went on brusquely, “we have arrived at the other story.  Do you know, Mr. Tisdale, it is being said in Washington, and, too, I have heard it here in Seattle, that though your own half interest in the Aurora mine, acquired through the grub-stake you furnished Weatherbee, will make you a millionaire at least, you are withholding the widow’s share.”

This time Tisdale did not express surprise.  “I have had that suggested to me,” he answered quietly.  “But the stories of the Aurora are very much inflated.  It is a comparatively new mine, and though it promises to be one of the great discoveries, the expense of operating so far has exceeded the output.  Heavy machinery has been transported and installed, and Mrs. Weatherbee could not have met any part of these payments.  In all probability she would have immediately disposed of an interest at a small price and so handicapped me with a partner with his own ideas of development.  David Weatherbee paid for the Aurora with his life, and I have pledged myself to carry out his plans.  But, Mr. Bromley, do not trouble about that last half interest.  I bought it:  the transfer was regularly recorded; Mr. Jerold has assured me it is legally mine.”

“I know what Mr. Jerold thinks,” replied the attorney.  “It nettled him to hear me repeat that story.  ‘Why, it’s incredible,’” he said. “’There are documents I drew up last fall that refute it completely.’” Mr. Bromley paused, then went on slowly:  “Last fall you were in a hospital, Mr. Tisdale, beginning a long, all but hopeless fight for your life, and it was natural you should have called in Mr. Jerold to settle your affairs.  I inferred from his remark that you had remembered Mrs. Weatherbee, at least, in your will.”  He halted again, then added still more deliberately:  “If I am right, I should like to be prepared, in case of emergency, to read such a clause in court.”

Tisdale was silent.  He rose and turned to the west windows, where he stood looking down on the harbor lights.

“Am I right?” persisted the attorney.

Hollis thrust his hands into his pockets and swung around.  He stood with his chin lowered, looking at the lawyer with his upward glance from under slightly frowning brows.  “Well,” he said at last, “suppose you are.  And suppose I refuse to have my private papers read in open court?”

“In that case,” answered Mr. Bromley, rising, “I must telegraph to Washington for one of the Alaska coal commission to take your place.  I am sorry.  You were named to me at the beginning as a man who knew more about Alaska coal, and, in fact, the whole Alaska situation, than any other employee of the Government.”