“Oh, I want to ask you about some of the men with whom your father did business.”

“Didn’t you ask me that before?”

“Perhaps I did.  But I want you to give me all the information you possibly can.”

“I will.”

“In the first place, you know Matlock Styles.”

“Why, yes, I know him fairly well.”

“He had some business dealings with your father.”

“Yes, he owed my father money on several mortgages.”

“Did they have any other business relations?”

“I think Mr. Styles had some interest in one of my father’s patents—­or, at least he claimed an interest.  He and my father had some differences of opinion in the matter.”

“Was the patent matter settled up?”

“I do not know, but I do not think so.”

“Can you tell me anything else about Mr. Styles?”

The girl hesitated and then a flush mounted to her face.  “Yes, I can.  I—­I did not wish to speak of it before, yet I see no harm in doing so.  About four months ago Mr. Styles asked me to marry him.  I told him I could not do so.  He was very persistent and said he had more money than I imagined.  I told him that that would make no difference, that I did not love him and did not wish him to mention the matter again.”

“How did he take your refusal?”

“He was very bitter and overbearing.  He said I had better think it over, and he hinted something about having my father in his power.  He did not say it in just so many words but he hinted at it.”

“Did he mean about the patent?”

“No, I think it was something else.  But I did not pay much attention, for I thought he was talking merely to get me to consider his suit, and I did not wish to consider it, for I had become acquainted with Raymond.”

“Did he ever bother you after that?”

“Only once, when I met him on the road.  Then he asked me again, and said I’d be sorry some day if I refused him.”

“Humph!” Adam Adams mused for a moment.  “Now to change the subject.  When did Matlock Styles last call on your father?”

“He called several times last week.  I don’t know exactly when he called last.  But I do know that my father was greatly excited over something, and that he called in my stepmother and she was excited, too.  I was not told what it was about.”

“Well, to drop him, do you know a man named John Watkins, of Bryport?”

“Watkins?  Yes, I do.  He once called on my father, about the same time that Mr. Styles called last.”

“Do you know why he called?”

“I do not.  I thought it was about a patent.  I learned that Mr. Watkins worked for the United States government and I thought it was for the patent office.”

“Then that is all, Miss Langmore.”  The detective arose and held out his hand.  “Now take good care of yourself and do not worry.  Matters are bound to come out right in the end.”