“He was going to send this photograph to his father.”

“Yes, but never did.  Apparently there is no flaw in our plan.”

CHAPTER III

I ACCEPT THE OFFER

I do not know how others might have looked upon such a proposition as this, but it never occurred to me at the time to doubt the honesty of Vail’s statement, nor could I perceive any great wrong in the action so calmly proposed.  This was Philip Henley’s property; his father undoubtedly intended he should inherit it, and the poor devil was utterly unable to comply with the terms of the will.  The very fact that he possessed sufficient pride to part with the inheritance rather than openly reveal his disgrace, appealed strongly.  That sort of fellow must have a strain of manhood in him.  If I could serve him, save the property for him, at almost no danger to myself, and make a tidy sum of money doing it, why shouldn’t I consent?  I saw no reason for refusal.  To be sure the method was not lawful, yet was advised by a lawyer, and agreed to by the administrators.  Besides, the keeping of a few promiscuous charities out of such a gift did not seem especially wrong—­I knew nothing, cared nothing for their loss.  They were but names of no significance.  Vail, watching the expression of my face in the light, seemed to divine my thoughts.

“Evidently you are recovering your good sense,” he remarked easily.  “There is no use acting like a fool in a matter of this kind.  You are lucky to fall into such a chance.  You ’ll act, I take it?”

“Yes,” the word was out almost before I was aware of speaking.

“Sensible decision, my man,” his face lighting up.  “Now there is no need of our meeting again, or being seen together.  The more quiet we can keep our plans, the better it will be for all concerned.  Neale, hand Craig your copy of the articles of administration, and of the will.”

I took these and read them over carefully, yet without fully comprehending the legal phraseology.  They were apparently genuine, and I gathered from them that the facts were exactly as stated.  Peter B. Neale, of Birmingham, was named one of the administrators.  The two men watched me read, and when I laid the papers down Vail was ready with others.

“Here is a small packet of letters from Judge Henley to his son,” he said, in a business-like way, “which you had better read, and so familiarize yourself with local names, and conditions.  I have also drawn up, and had typed, a brief sketch of young Henley’s life, which will aid you in playing the part.  You will need a new outfit of clothes, I presume?”

“This is my best suit.”

“I thought it probable.  Now, if you will sign this paper, I will hand you a liberal advance.”

I read it over slowly, but it appeared innocent enough.  Of course they would require some guarantee that my work would be performed.  Yet certain questions arose to my mind.