would change her mood, but now, in the sunshine, her courage would hold steadfast.  Even as these considerations flashed across my mind, I heard the thud of Coombs’ feet upon the steps of the veranda.  That he had been drinking I realized at a glance, and it was equally evident that he planned to overawe me by brutal domineering.  In spite of every effort to control my expression I could not restrain a smile at the manifest bluster of his approach.

“So yer ‘ve got through eatin’, hey,” he began coarsely.  “Whar ’s the female?  Thought I saw her here.”

“You did,” I returned coldly, “but Mrs. Henley has returned to her room.”

“Mrs. Henley, huh!  Think yer kin pull thet bluff over me!”

“What bluff?”

“Aw, this Henley racket you sprung last night—­’bout yer being young Phil Henley come back.”

“Did I say that?”

“Yer shure did,” eyeing me in some surprise.  “I reckon my ears heard all right.  Why, what are yer this morning?”

“If I ever made any such claim as that, Coombs, it was merely to assure our admittance.  You were not overly-cordial, you know, and I did n’t propose having the lady walk back to town.  It’s different this morning, and I am going to be just as frank with you as you are with me.  Is that square?”

“I reckon,” uneasily, not yet able to gauge my purpose, and feeling his bluff a failure.  “I ain’t got nothin’ ter lie about so fur as I know.  Let’s go inside, whar we kin have it out quiet like.”

I followed him into the front room, and he kicked out a chair so as to bring my face to the windows.  As I sank into it I noticed a dusty mirror opposite which gave me a dim reflection of the entire room.  Coombs shut the door leading to the back of the house, and sat down facing me, his big hands on his knees.  His effort to look pleasant only made him appear uglier than usual.

“Wal, go on!” he said gruffly.

I crossed my legs comfortably, and leaned back in the chair, quite conscious of thus adding to his irritation.  If I could only anger the fellow sufficiently he might blurt out something of value.  Anyhow, my best card was cool indifference.

“There is not much to say,” I replied deliberately.  “I ’ll answer your questions so far as I think best, and then I ’ll ask a few of you.  The lady upstairs is Viola Henley, the wife of Philip Henley.  She has come down here to take legal possession of this property.  That is the situation in a nutshell.  I am merely accompanying her to make sure that she gets a square deal.”

His jaw sagged, and his eyes wandered.

“Oh, hell,” he managed to articulate.  “What is your real game?”

“Exactly as I have stated it, Coombs.  To the best of my knowledge Philip Henley is dead—­at least he has disappeared—­and his widow is the rightful heir to this estate.”

“Wal, I reckon he ain’t dead—­not by a jugful.”