The negro brought the girl’s lunch on a tray, and I took it in to her, barely pausing long enough to speak a few encouraging words, for fear of some interruption.  Then I sat down and watched while the remnants of our meal were being removed.  Except for an occasional footstep on the deck above, and the swift movements of the steward, nothing interrupted my thoughts.  After Louis had carried the last dishes into his pantry, and run the table up on its stanchions, he also disappeared, and in the silence I could hear the heavy breathing of the sleeping mate.  For the first time I comprehended clearly the entire situation, and I could face it with understanding.  Broussard’s anger had served me well, and it never occurred to me to doubt this story, told under the inspiration of liquor.  It dovetailed in with all I previously knew.

The facts were clear.  Philip Henley was dead, killed while intoxicated, either accidentally, or for purposes of robbery.  And he had been robbed when picked up by the police, nothing to identify him being found.  Beyond doubt this half-breed brother had dispatched a man North to look him up—­possibly to assassinate him if necessary.  The fellow had either done the job, or been anticipated in his purpose.  In either case he was present to identify the body, and had written at once, enclosing the signet ring as proof.  That was the same ring we had round in the arbor, and which Viola had instantly recognized.  And those men who had made a tool of me were the robbers.  They had found papers and letters which opened before them this scheme of fraud; then, with his residence address, using his keys, they had learned everything necessary for the completion of their plans.  A copy of the Judge’s will must have been in Henley’s possession, and, no doubt, some lawyer’s letter, describing the situation, received since the departure of his wife.  Apparently everything two clever crooks needed to know was in their possession.  All they needed to do was pull the strings, using a figurehead to represent Philip Henley.  That was the part for which I was chosen.  They had to construct a lie in order to interest me, yet that was comparatively easy, and there was a strong probability of success but for peculiar conditions of which they could know nothing.  The half-breed had never been mentioned; he was the monkey wrench thrown unexpectedly into their well-oiled machine.  Yet, even without him, the reappearance of Philip Henley’s wife was sufficient to cause disaster.

Philip Henley’s wife!  The magic of the words halted me.  Then now, if all I had learned was true, she was his widow.  What would that mean to me!  The swift beating of my heart answered.  As I sat there alone, in the silence I forgot everything save her, and my mind dwelt upon every word and look which had passed between us.  These had been innocent enough, and yet, to my imagination, stimulated by this discovery, formed the basis of a dream of hope.