“I am not here to argue with you,” snapped Mr. Gooch, his gaze sweeping the ever-increasing group of spectators. “Your candidacy has nothing to do with my determination to sift this business to the bottom,” he went on, suddenly realizing that he was now committed to definite action. “I shall appeal to the proper authorities and nothing you do or say, young man, can head off the investigation. That’s final. I’m going to find out what became of the money he drew out of the bank and where you got the money to pay up for Mrs. Bannester and her sister. I’m going to find out why you refuse to let the dredgers go farther out into the swamp, and I’m going to—Oh, you needn’t grin! There are plenty of witnesses who will swear that you and him were not on good terms, and that one day you threatened to hire an aeroplane and take him up five miles and drop him overboard if he didn’t quit pestering you with that story about the gypsy. A lot of people heard you say that and—” “It begins to look as though you were actually accusing me of murder, Uncle Horace.” “Good boy!” cried Mr. Sikes, appeasingly. “That’s the way to hold your temper. He’s wonderful, ain’t he, Silas?” “Wonderful, nothing!” said Mr. Link. “He ain’t had anything to get mad about, far as I can see. The thing is, why ain’t he laughin’ himself sick at the darned old nanny goat?” “You go to grass!” shouted Mr. Gooch furiously. Mr. Sikes and Mr. Link joined in the gale of laughter that went up from the crowd. Mr. Gooch, crimson with rage, shook his finger at Oliver. “That’s right—that’s right! Laugh while you can, you young scoundrel. You think you’re safe and that you got everything covered up, but you’ll be laughing on the other side of the face before I get through with you. I’m going to find out what happened to Oliver Baxter if it takes all the rest of my life. You won’t be laughing so darned idiotically when the prosecuting attorney begins asking questions of you. You bet you won’t. Because he’ll be getting at the truth and the real facts, and that’s what you don’t want, my laddie buck. I’m going to demand a complete investigation before I’m a day older, and I’m going to show the people of this here town that I mean business. The grand jury’s in session now. I’ll have this business up before them to-morrow and I’ll demand a complete investi—” He broke off in the middle of the oft-repeated word and jerked his head back. Oliver had taken that instant to snap his fingers under Mr. Gooch’s nose, not once but thrice in rapid succession. “Investigate and be damned!” cried the young man angrily. “You infernal old buzzard! Go ahead and—” “Whoa, Oliver!” shouted Mr. Sikes, in a panic. “Don’t lose your—” “All right, Uncle Joe,” gulped Oliver—“all right! I came near letting go of myself for a—” “He would have killed me in cold blood if I’d been alone with him,” exclaimed Mr. Gooch. “My God, when I think of poor old Oliver out there on that lonely back road, trying to reason with him, I—”