he said, "that's going to come in pretty handy. Drink one of these, Griffin, and you'll feel better."
Griffin nodded. "It looks good, but I feel all right now."
Mason handed him a cup of coffee.
"Do you know anything about a will?" asked Sergeant Hoffman, abruptly.
"I'd rather not answer that, if you don't mind, Sergeant," Griffin answered.
Hoffman took himself a cup of coffee. "It happens that I do mind," he commented. "I want you to answer that question."
"Yes, there's a will," Griffin admitted.
"Where is it?" asked Hoffman.
"I don't know."
"How do you know there is one?"
"He showed it to me."
"Does the property all go to his wife?"
Griffin shook his head.
"I don't think anything goes to her," he said, "except the sum of five thousand dollars."
Sergeant Hoffman raised his eyebrows, and whistled.
"That," he said, "puts a different aspect on it."
"Different aspect on what?" asked Griffin.
"On the whole situation," said Hoffman. "She was kept here practically dependent on him, and upon his continuing to live. The minute he died, she was put out with virtually nothing."
Griffin volunteered a statement by way of explanation. "I don't think they were very congenial."
Sergeant Hoffman said, musingly, "That's not the point. Usually in any of these cases, we have to look for a motive."
Mason grinned at Sergeant Hoffman.
"Are you insinuating that Mrs. Belter fired the shot which killed her husband?" he asked, as though the entire idea were humorous.
"I was making a routine investigation, Mason, in order to find out who might have killed him. In such cases, we always look for a motive. We try to find out any one who would have benefited by his death."
"In that case," Griffin remarked, soberly, "I presume that I'll come under suspicion."
"How do you mean?" asked Hoffman.
"Under the terms of the will," said Griffin slowly, "I take virtually all of the estate. I don't know as it's any particular secret. I think that Uncle George had more affection for me than he did for any one else in the world. That is, he had as much affection for me as he could have, considering his disposition. I doubt if he was capable of having affection for any one."
"How did you feel toward him?" asked Hoffman.
"I respected his mind," Carl Griffin replied, choosing his words carefully, "and I think I appreciated something of his disposition. He lived a life that was very much apart, because he had a mind which was very impatient of all subterfuges and hypocrisies."
"Why did that condemn him to live apart?" asked Sergeant Hoffman.
Griffin made a slight motion with his shoulders.
"If you had a mind like that," he said, "you wouldn't need to ask the question. The man had wonderful intellectual capacity. He had the ability to see through people and to penetrate sham and hypocrisy. He was the type of a man who never made any friends. He was so thoroughly self-reliant that he didn't have to lean on any one, and, therefore, he hadn't any ground for establishing friendships. His sole inclination was to fight. He fought the world and everyone in it."
"Evidently he didn't fight you," said Sergeant Hoffman.
"No," admitted Griffin, "he didn't fight me, because he knew that I didn't give a damn about him or his money. I didn't lick his boots, and, on the other hand, I didn't double-cross him. I told him what I thought, and I shot fair with him."
Sergeant Hoffman narrowed his eyes. "Who did double-cross him?" he asked.
"Why, what do you mean?"
"You said you didn't double-cross him, so he liked you."
"That's right."
"And there was an emphasis on the pronoun you used."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"How about his wife? Didn't he like her?"
"I don't know. He didn't discuss his wife with me."
"Did she double-cross him?" demanded Sergeant Hoffman.
"How should I know that?"
Sergeant Hoffman stared at the young man. "You sure know how to keep things to yourself," he mused, "but if you won't talk, you won't, so that's all there is to
Griffin nodded. "It looks good, but I feel all right now."
Mason handed him a cup of coffee.
"Do you know anything about a will?" asked Sergeant Hoffman, abruptly.
"I'd rather not answer that, if you don't mind, Sergeant," Griffin answered.
Hoffman took himself a cup of coffee. "It happens that I do mind," he commented. "I want you to answer that question."
"Yes, there's a will," Griffin admitted.
"Where is it?" asked Hoffman.
"I don't know."
"How do you know there is one?"
"He showed it to me."
"Does the property all go to his wife?"
Griffin shook his head.
"I don't think anything goes to her," he said, "except the sum of five thousand dollars."
Sergeant Hoffman raised his eyebrows, and whistled.
"That," he said, "puts a different aspect on it."
"Different aspect on what?" asked Griffin.
"On the whole situation," said Hoffman. "She was kept here practically dependent on him, and upon his continuing to live. The minute he died, she was put out with virtually nothing."
Griffin volunteered a statement by way of explanation. "I don't think they were very congenial."
Sergeant Hoffman said, musingly, "That's not the point. Usually in any of these cases, we have to look for a motive."
Mason grinned at Sergeant Hoffman.
"Are you insinuating that Mrs. Belter fired the shot which killed her husband?" he asked, as though the entire idea were humorous.
"I was making a routine investigation, Mason, in order to find out who might have killed him. In such cases, we always look for a motive. We try to find out any one who would have benefited by his death."
"In that case," Griffin remarked, soberly, "I presume that I'll come under suspicion."
"How do you mean?" asked Hoffman.
"Under the terms of the will," said Griffin slowly, "I take virtually all of the estate. I don't know as it's any particular secret. I think that Uncle George had more affection for me than he did for any one else in the world. That is, he had as much affection for me as he could have, considering his disposition. I doubt if he was capable of having affection for any one."
"How did you feel toward him?" asked Hoffman.
"I respected his mind," Carl Griffin replied, choosing his words carefully, "and I think I appreciated something of his disposition. He lived a life that was very much apart, because he had a mind which was very impatient of all subterfuges and hypocrisies."
"Why did that condemn him to live apart?" asked Sergeant Hoffman.
Griffin made a slight motion with his shoulders.
"If you had a mind like that," he said, "you wouldn't need to ask the question. The man had wonderful intellectual capacity. He had the ability to see through people and to penetrate sham and hypocrisy. He was the type of a man who never made any friends. He was so thoroughly self-reliant that he didn't have to lean on any one, and, therefore, he hadn't any ground for establishing friendships. His sole inclination was to fight. He fought the world and everyone in it."
"Evidently he didn't fight you," said Sergeant Hoffman.
"No," admitted Griffin, "he didn't fight me, because he knew that I didn't give a damn about him or his money. I didn't lick his boots, and, on the other hand, I didn't double-cross him. I told him what I thought, and I shot fair with him."
Sergeant Hoffman narrowed his eyes. "Who did double-cross him?" he asked.
"Why, what do you mean?"
"You said you didn't double-cross him, so he liked you."
"That's right."
"And there was an emphasis on the pronoun you used."
"I didn't mean it that way."
"How about his wife? Didn't he like her?"
"I don't know. He didn't discuss his wife with me."
"Did she double-cross him?" demanded Sergeant Hoffman.
"How should I know that?"
Sergeant Hoffman stared at the young man. "You sure know how to keep things to yourself," he mused, "but if you won't talk, you won't, so that's all there is to
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