“I went up to Toba Inlet awhile ago and had a look over that timber limit of mine,” he began abruptly.  “I’d like to see the documents bearing on that, if you don’t mind.”

Mr. Lewis looked at him uncertainly, but he called a clerk and issued an order.  While the clerk was on his mission to the files Lewis put a few questions which Hollister answered without disclosing what he had in mind.  It struck him, though, that the tone of Mr. Lewis’ inquiry bordered upon the anxious.

Presently the clerk returned with the papers.  Hollister took them up.  He selected the agreement of sale, a letter or two, the original cruiser’s estimate, a series of tax receipts, held them in his hand and looked at Lewis.

“You haven’t succeeded in finding a buyer, I suppose?”

“In the winter,” Lewis replied, “there is very little stir in timber.”

“There is going to be some sort of stir in this timber before long,” Hollister said.

The worried expression deepened on Mr. Lewis’ face.

“The fact is,” Hollister continued evenly, “I made a rough survey of that timber, and found it away off color.  You represented it to contain so many million feet.  It doesn’t.  Nowhere near.  I appear to have been rather badly stung, and I really don’t wonder it hasn’t been resold.  What do you propose to do about this?”

Mr. Lewis made a gesture of deprecation.

“There must be some mistake, Mr. Hollister.”

“No doubt of that,” Hollister agreed dryly.  “The point is, who shall pay for the mistake?”

Mr. Lewis looked out of the window.  He seemed suddenly to be stricken with an attitude of remoteness.  It occurred to Hollister that the man was not thinking about the matter at all.

“Well?” he questioned sharply.

The eyes of the specialist in timber turned back to him uneasily.

“Well?” he echoed.

Hollister put the documents in his pocket.  He gathered up those on the desk and put them also in his pocket.  He was angry because he was baffled.  This was a matter of vital importance to him, and this man seemed able to insulate himself against either threat or suggestion.

“My dear sir,” Lewis expostulated.  Even his protest was half-hearted, lacked honest indignation.

Hollister rose.

“I’m going to keep these,” he said irritably.  “You don’t seem to take much interest in the fact that you have laid yourself open to a charge of fraud, and that I am going to do something about it if you don’t.”

“Oh, go ahead,” Lewis broke out pettishly.  “I don’t care what you do.”

Hollister stared at him in amazement.  The man’s eyes met his for a moment, then shifted to the opposite wall, became fixed there.  He sat half turned in his chair.  He seemed to grow intent on something, to become wrapped in some fog of cogitation, through which Hollister and his affairs appeared only as inconsequential phantoms.