That notable man of business, Jonathan Crenshaw—­and this superiority was especially evident when the business chanced to be his own—­was closeted in the library with a stranger to whom rumor fixed the name of Bladen, supposing him to be the legal representative of certain remote connections of the old general’s.

Crenshaw sat before the flat-topped mahogany desk in the center of the room with several well-thumbed account-books open before him.  Bladen, in riding dress, stood by the window.

“I suppose you will buy in the property when it comes up for sale?” the latter was saying.

Mr. Crenshaw had already made it plain that General Quintard’s creditors would have lean pickings at the Barony, intimating that he himself was the chiefest of these and the one to suffer most grievously in pocket.  Further than this, Mr. Bladen saw that the old house was a ruin, scarcely habitable, and that the thin acres, though they were many and a royal grant, were of the slightest value.  Crenshaw nodded his acquiescence to the lawyer’s conjecture touching the ultimate fate of the Barony.

“I reckon, sir, I’ll want to protect myself, but if there are any of his own kin who have a fancy to the place I’ll put no obstacle in their way.”

“Who are the other creditors?” asked Bladen.

“There ain’t none, sir; they just got tired waiting on him, and when they began to sue and get judgment the old general would send me word to settle with them, and their claims passed into my hands.  I was in too deep to draw out.  But for the last ten years his dealings were all with me; I furnished the supplies for the place here.  It didn’t amount to much, as there was only him and the darkies, and the account ran on from year to year.”

“He lived entirely alone, saw no one, I understand,” said Bladen.

“Alone with his two or three old slaves—­yes, sir.  He wouldn’t even see me; Joe, his old nigger, would fetch orders for this or that.  Once or twice I rode out to see him, but I wa’n’t even allowed inside that door; the message I got was that he couldn’t be disturbed, and the last time I come he sent me word that if I annoyed him again he would be forced to terminate our business relations.  That was pretty strong talk, wa’n’t it, when you consider that I could have sold the roof from over his head and the land from under his feet?  Oh, well, I just put it down to childishness.”  There was a brief pause, then Crenshaw spoke again.  “I reckon, sir, if you know anything about the old general’s private affairs you don’t feel no call to speak on that point?” he observed, and with evident regret.  He had hoped that Bladen would clear up the mystery, for certainly it must have been some sinister tragedy that had cost the general his grip on life and for twenty years and more had made of him a recluse, so that the faces of his friends had become as the faces of strangers.

“My dear sir, I know nothing of General Quintard’s private, history.  I am even unacquainted with my clients, who are distant cousins, but his nearest kin—­they live in South Carolina.  I was merely instructed to represent them in the event of his death and to look after their interests.”