“Where’s Esther?” he asked.

Rose mustered a faint smile.  “She’s eating lunch with a handsomer man.”

“You can’t throw a stone up Sixteenth Street without hittin’ one,” he answered gayly.

They followed the head waitress to a small table for two by a window.  Rose walked with the buoyant rhythm of perfect health.  Her friend noticed, as he had often done before, that she had the grace of movement which is a corollary to muscles under perfect response.  Seated across the table from her, he marveled once more at the miracle of her soft skin and the peach bloom of her complexion.  Many times she had known the sting of sleet and the splash of sun on her face.  Yet incredibly her cheeks did not tan nor lose their fineness.

“You haven’t told me who this handsomer man is,” Kirby suggested.

“Cole Sanborn.”  She flushed a little, but looked straight at him.  “Have you told him—­about Esther?”

“No.  But from somethin’ he said I think he guesses.”

Her eyes softened.  “He’s awf’ly good to Esther.  I can see he likes her and she likes him.  Why couldn’t she have met him first?  She’s so lovable.”  Tears brimmed to her eyes.  “That’s been her ruin.  She was ready to believe any man who said he cared for her.  Even when she was a little bit of a trick when people liked her, she was grateful to them for it and kinda snuggled up to them.  I never saw a more cuddly baby.”

“Have you found out anything more yet about—­the man?” he asked, his voice low and gentle.

“No.  It’s queer how stubborn she can be for all her softness.  But she almost told me last night.  I’ll find out in a day or two now.  Of course it was your uncle.  The note I found was really an admission of guilt.  Your cousins feel that some settlement ought to be made on Esther out of the estate.  I’ve been trying to decide what would be fair.  Will you think it over and let me know what seems right to you?”

The waitress came, took their order, and departed.

“I’m goin’ out to Golden to-day on a queer wild-goose chase,” Kirby said.  “A man gave me a hint.  He didn’t want to tell me the information out an’ out, whatever it is.  I don’t know why.  What he said was for me to go to Golden an’ look over the list of marriage licenses for the past month or two.”

Her eyes flashed an eager question at him.  “You don’t suppose—­it couldn’t be that Esther was married to your uncle secretly and that she promised not to tell.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.  It might be.”  His eyes narrowed in concentration.  “And if Jack an’ Miss Harriman had just found it out, that would explain why they called on Uncle James the night he was killed.  Do you want to go to Golden with me?”

She nodded, eagerly.  “Oh, I do, Kirby!  I believe we’ll find out something there.  Shall we go by the interurban?”

“As soon as we’re through lunch.”