“He died. In a rooming house.”
“You saw him at the last?”
“Well, no, I didn’t.”
“But you know beyond a doubt that he died?” The miser nodded his head morosely.
“Yes, and mighty glad he was to go. He was tired of life—of everything.”
Doris could scarcely restrain her excitement, for she felt that now it would be an easy matter to establish her claim to the fortune. She had never ■ known her uncle, but as Mr. Jay’s words made her realize that John Trent had been a very lonely and unhappy man, her pleasure at solving the enigma of his life was tempered with regret.
Doris felt that she must ask more.
“Mr. Jay,” she questioned eagerly, “will you come with me to Frank McDermott’s office and sign a statement to the effect that my uncle is no longer living?”
“Your uncle?” the miser gasped.
“Yes, I am Doris Force. Surely you knew.”
“Force! Force!” Mr. Jay muttered. “Thename wasn’t mentioned. I would have noticed.”
“I am John Trent’s niece,” Doris explained, studying the old man wonderingly. “I must have a signed statement in order to claim the property.”
“Your name is Force, you say?”
“Yes, Mr. Jay. My father and mother are not living. I and my Uncle Wardell Force live with Mrs. Mallow.”
“I see.” Again the old man’s gaze wandered, then came back to Doris’s face.
“My mother’s name was Trent before she married, and my Uncle John Trent was her brother.” The miser nodded.
“I have been told that he left some money, and that part of it was to come to me. I need—need it yery much.”
“You need it—very much?” the man asked the excited girl, who stood before him with pleading eyes.
“Yes. So you see how important it is that someone who knew my uncle go to Mr. McDermott to sign a statement.”
Doris could hardly wait for his answer.
Mr. Jay made no response, but stared at her incredulously.
Doris thought he did not believe her, so, recalling that at the moment she had in her pocket the photograph which Azalea and Iris Gates had given her, brought it out as proof of her story.
“See,” she pointed out, “there is a signature on the back.”
“Where—where did you get this photograph?” Doris explained that the Misses Gates had given it to her, and briefly related the story of her encounter with Joe Jeffery. She observed that Mr. Jay listened intently, hanging upon her every word, but the color had faded from his face, leaving it almost ashen in hue.
“The Misses Gates are eager for me to settle up the Estate,” she finished. “Now that I have told you everything, will you come with me?”
For answer, Mr. Jay shrank away, covering his face with his hands. A low cry which was not unlike a sob wracked his body. He turned and fled toward the woods, muttering to himself. Doris started to follow him, as she was afraid from the zig-zag way he was walking, that the old man might fall.
She decided, however, not to. She merely stared blankly after him.
She had caught his last words: “Oh! This is killing me!”
This left her more mystified than ever.
CHAPTER XXIII
A Glimmer of Light
Doris called after Mr. Jay, but he appeared not to hear her. Without glancing back, he staggered into the woods and was soon out of sight.
“Now, what in the world made him act like that?” Doris asked herself in perplexity. “I wonder if I said anything which offended him?” She was still tempted to follow the miser, but again decided against it. As she made her way slowly back toward the camp, she was sorely troubled. She had hoped that he would agree to sign the paper which would give her an undisputed claim to the Trent fortune, but now it appeared that new difficulties stood in the way. For some reason, Mr. Jay was unwilling to tell what he knew concerning her uncle.
“Mr. Jay seemed very interested in my story,” Doris thought. “When I spoke of the MisseS Gates, his face lighted up. I wonder if he could have known them, too?”
Doris did not return immediately to the cabin for she wished to be alone; she desired to have an opportunity to think things out. Sitting down on a mossy log she reflected gravely, recalling everything she knew about the miser. His strange utterance during his recent delirium now took on a special significance. What was it he had said? Something about a ring; then, too, he had mentioned “the Gates.”
“Is it possible he could have meant Azalea or Iris?” Doris mused. “Or perhaps Locked Gates!” Since coming to Cloudy Cove, she had been obsessed with the idea that she had seen Mr. Jay at some previous time. She recalled that he, too, had mentioned that her face seemed familiar. Yet obviously they had never met before. What was there about the old man that served to remind her of some other person? Who was it that she thought he resembled?
“My Uncle John Trent!” The name came like a flash to Doris. “Why didn’t I think of it before?”
She took from her pocket the photograph which the Gates twins had given her, and scanned it hopefully. The picture had been taken many years before, when her uncle and the Misses Gates were young. At first glance there did not appear to be the slightest resemblance between the youth of the photograph and Mr. Jay, but the longer Doris studied the face, the more troubled she became.
“He has the same high forehead,” she compared mentally. “He’s about the same height, too, although Mr. Jay has acquired a stoop to his shoulders. I declare! There’s a marked resemblance! If Mr. Jay were slicked up, he would look the very picture of my uncle!”
The discovery excited Doris. While she could not bring herself to the point of believing that Mr. Jay and John Trent were the same man, yet there was a growing suspicion in her mind. Now that she had struck a clue, she was determined to run it to earth «
“I’ll go to Mr. Jay again,” she decided, “and plead with him to tell me everything.”
She arose from the log and started back toward the old miser’s cabin, but just at that moment Mrs. Mallow opened the door of their own cottage and called to them that supper was ready. Reluctantly Doris turned back.
“Oh, well, perhaps it will be wise to wait until after supper before trying to talk with him again,” she assured herself. “He was upset when he left me. I’ll give him an opportunity to get over it.” As soon as supper was finished, she explained to the others that she wished to talk with Mr. Jay on rather important business.
“Never mind the dishes,” Kitty told her. “I’ll do them alone.”
“I’ll help,” Marshmallow offered. This was a great concession on his part, for if there was one thing more than another that he disliked, it was wiping dishes.
Dave had gone to the spring to refill the water pails, so Doris set off for the cabin by herself. She was rather glad that the others had not offered to accompany her, for she preferred to speak with the miser alone. She felt that he would be less self-conscious, more willing to tell her the things she wished to know.
A loud barking attracted her attention as she approached the cabin, causing her to quicken her steps. Coming within sight of the shack she was surprised to see that Mr. Jay’s dog had been tied to the porch, a most unusual procedure, as the hound was usually permitted to wander freely about the camp.
“That’s queer,” Doris murmured, going over to the dog.
He gave a low whine at her approach, iand she saw