"Yes, it must to you--especially since you never knew the facts. Very few people did know then, even at the time, for there were no newspapers in that part of Mexico; you, of course, were a boy at school in the United States. Nevertheless, it's true. That part of the story which I didn't know at the time I learned by talking with General Guadalupe and others. It was very shocking." Dave's face was a study; his color had lessened slightly; he wet his lips. "This is news, of course," said he, "but it doesn't explain my mother's death. Who killed her, if not the Guadalupes?" "Can't you guess? That's what I meant when I said they had to kill Frank Law." Ellsworth maintained his fixity of gaze, and when Dave started he nodded his head. "It's God's truth. The details were too--dreadful. Your father turned his hand against the woman he loved and--died a wife-killer. The Guadalupes had to destroy him like a mad dog. I'm sorry you had to learn the truth from me, my boy, but it seems necessary that I tell you. When I knew Frank Law he was like any other man, quick-tempered, a little too violent, perhaps, but apparently as sane as you or I, and yet the thing was there." Dave rose from his chair and bent over the desk. "So THAT'S what you've been driving at," he gasped. "That's what you meant when you said I shouldn't marry." He began to tremble now; his voice became hoarse with fury. "Now I understand. You're trying to tell me that--maybe I've got it in me, eh? Hell! YOU'RE crazy, not I. I'm all right. I reckon I know." "HE didn't know," Ellsworth said, quietly. "I doubt if he even suspected." Dave struck the desk violently with his clenched fist. "Bosh! You're hipped on this heredity subject. Crazy! Why, you doddering old fool--" With an effort he calmed himself, realizing that he had shouted his last words. He turned away and made a circuit of the room before returning to face his friend. "I didn't mean to speak to you like that, Judge. You pulled this on me too suddenly, and I'm--upset. But it merely proves my own contention that I'm not Frank Law's son at all. I've always known it." "How do you know it?" "Don't you suppose I can tell?" In spite of himself Dave's voice rose again, but it was plain from the lawyer's expression that to a man of his training no mere conviction unsupported by proof had weight. This skepticism merely kept Dave's impatience at a white heat. "Very well, then," he argued, angrily, "let's say that I'm wrong and you're right. Let's agree that I am his son. What of it? What makes you think I've inherited--the damned thing? It isn't a disease. Me, insane? Rot!" He laughed harshly, took another uncertain turn around the room, then sank into his chair and buried his face in his hands.