“Then you’d better die,” retorted Folsom. “That’s all I’ve got to say. I’ve looked at that wonderful land the company bought, and there isn’t enough oil in it to fill a lamp. Not a dollar that’s been put into it will ever be got out again. But you’ll be fairly well off with the money you’ve got from the widows and orphans--if you don’t get into jail for swindling.” With this, Mr. Folsom strode away. “What does it mean?” asked Mr. Judson. “Sorehead, that’s all!” responded Claymore. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about----” “But he seems to, Mr. Claymore, if I find that there has been any dishonest work in this business, I shall expose it all, understand that. I shall die of the shame of it, but I will not commit suicide until I have seen that the really guilty parties are punished.” “Come, Mr. Judson, don’t talk of suicide. That’s foolish. You’re not used to business, that’s all.” “It is not all--ah! there’s Mr. Low’s wagon in front of that store. I am going to speak to him.” Claymore objected, but the minister was stubborn, and they went into the store. Low was there, and the clergyman asked him to call at the hotel to talk over matters. “I want to know all the facts,” said Mr. Judson. “Waal,” answered Low slowly, “I’ve got some business to attend to, but ef ye’re in at half past three I’ll be thar.” “I shall look for you at that hour.” It was then about noon, and while they were at dinner Claymore tried to make the clergyman think that the business was all straight, but evidently he did not succeed. “I shall go to my room and think quietly till Low comes,” said Mr. Judson, when they got up from the table, “and I repeat that if all does not seem to be honest and aboveboard I shall take measures to right the wrongs that have been done.” “Go ahead, then,” grumbled Claymore. “I shall be at the office if you want any information.” They parted, and did not meet again. Half past three came, and, prompt to the minute, Hank Low drove to the hotel entrance and went in. Mr. Judson’s room was on the fourth floor, the clerk told him, and called a boy to show the visitor up. “Never mind,” said Low, “I’ve been here before, and I know the way,” and he went up alone. Within five minutes he came down the stairs again, an angry look upon his face. He said nothing to anybody, but hastened to his wagon, got in, said “Geddap, Jenny,” and drove away as rapidly as the old nag could take him. As nearly as anybody could make out, it was just previous to Low’s departure that two or three persons on a street that ran along one side of the hotel were fearfully startled by the sight of a man falling from an upper story window. He struck headfirst on the sidewalk, and was instantly killed. Men were at his side before his heart stopped beating, but no word came from the unfortunate man’s lips. He was unknown to those who saw him die, but they knew from the cut of his clothes that he was a clergyman.