Why not? Did he not stand alone between them and fortune? Once his
lips were sealed, who else could combat their claims? No one; not a
human being knew his secret--except the little he had confided that
afternoon to Stella Donovan.
The thought of the girl served to break his reflections. This was all
a part of that tragedy in New York. Both were in some way connected
together, the assassination in the Waldron apartments, and the shooting
of Jose here in this mountain shack. They seemed far apart, yet they
were but steps in the same scheme.
He could not figure it all out, yet no doubt this was true--the
struggle for the Cavendish millions had come to include the gold he had
discovered here in the hills. Bill Lacy was merely the agent of those
others, of Ned Beaton, of Celeste La Rue, of Patrick Enright. Aye,
that was it--Enright! Instinctively, from the very first moment when
he had listened to the girl's story, his mind had settled on Enright as
the real leader. The lawyer's arrival in Haskell with the La Rue woman
only served to strengthen that conviction.
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