“Not at all.  He surely would not mutilate a public record.”

“We needn’t go into that.  He did.  But that didn’t keep us from getting the information we wanted.”

“No?” James murmured the monosyllable with polite indifference.  But he watched, lynx-eyed, the strong, brown face of his cousin.

“We know now the secret you wanted to keep hidden in the court-house at Golden.”

“I grant you energy in ferreting out other people’s business, dear cousin.  If you ’re always so—­so altruistic, let us say—­I wonder how you have time to devote to your own affairs.”

“We intend to see justice done Miss Esther McLean—­Mrs. James Cunningham, I should say.  You can’t move us from that intention or—­”

The expression on the oil broker’s face was either astonishment or the best counterfeit of it Kirby had ever seen.

“I beg pardon. What did you say?”

“I told you, what you already know, that Esther McLean was married to Uncle James at Golden on the twenty-first of last month.”

“Miss McLean and Uncle James married—­at Golden—­on the twenty-first of last month?  Are you sure?”

“Aren’t you?  What did you think we found out?”

Cunningham’s eyes narrowed.  A film of caution spread over them.  “Oh, I don’t know.  You’re so enterprising you might discover almost anything.  It’s really a pity with your imagination that you don’t go into fiction.”

“Or oil promotin’,” suggested Cole with a grin.  “Or is that the same thing?”

“Let’s table our cards, James,” his cousin said.  “You know now why we’re here.”

“On the contrary, I’m more in the dark than ever.”

Kirby was never given to useless movements of his limbs or body.  He had the gift of repose, of wonderful poise.  Now not even his eyelashes flickered.

“We want to know what you’ve done with Esther McLean.”

“But, my dear fellow, why should I do anything with her?”

“You know why as well as I do.  Somehow you’ve persuaded her to go somewhere and hide herself.  You want her in your power, to force or cajole her into a compromise of her right to Uncle James’s estate.  We won’t have it.”

A satiric smile touched the face of Cunningham without warming it, “That active imagination of yours again.  You do let it run away with you.”

“You were seen getting into a car with Miss McLean.”

“Did she step in of her own free will?”

“We don’t claim an abduction.”

“On your own statement of the case, then, you have no ground of complaint whatever.”

“Do you refuse to tell us where she is?” Kirby asked.

“I refuse to admit that I know where the young lady is.”

“We’ll find her.  Don’t make any mistake about that.”

Kirby rose.  The interview was at an end.  Cole Sanborn strode forward.  He leaned over the desk toward the oil broker, his blue eyes drilling into those of the broker.