H. Bedford-Jones

“ Miss Balliol, do you have any idea why you brother did what he did in Los Angeles?"
She shook her head. His suicide was still a mystery to her.
I told her about my encounter with John Talkso, and with the shot from the hills. She had warned me in San Francisco merely on impulse, for she had felt that there was something vaguely but distinctly hostile about that ranch; also, she had been distrustful of me, for she had imagined that I might have been concerned in some conspiracy to beat down the value of the ranch and get it cheap. There is the contradiction of woman for you! ”

“ Please, Miss Balliol, don't explain; I figured it out for myself later on, and I understand perfectly. But, if it is not an impertinence, may I ask what on earth you're doing here? This is an outlandish place in which to meet any one particularly a person of whom one has thought so much and often. ”

“ The banker had told me that Baliiol had sent back one thousand from Los Angeles—the thousand which t had given him for his car, of course.
This explained Balliol's haste to get the money. It did not explain the enmity which had existed between Balliol and this John Talkso, but of that I look little heed at the moment. Instead of giving Martha Balliol the extra five thousand, I would pay it over to the bank, clear Balliol's name, and square myself with the dead man, as I looked at it. Martha Balliol need never know of it. ”