Inside the brightly lighted house a small company was assembled. It was not a cheerful company, nor yet a gloomy one. Acting on the advice of the delegation from Republican headquarters, Oliver reluctantly had canceled an engagement to address a mass meeting at the county seat. While no actual charge had been made against him, there was small reason to doubt that the grand jury, then in session, would bring in an indictment against him, perhaps on the morrow. The coroner, who now had charge of the body—or skeleton—had announced that he would hold an inquest on the following day. The sheriff had returned to the county seat after cautioning Oliver to keep his head and await developments. “It looks pretty bad for you, Baxter,” he had said at the end of a long interview, “but there’s only one thing for you to do. People don’t want to believe you killed your father, and that’s a big advantage. So it’s up to you to stand your ground and face whatever comes. Don’t talk. Keep your trap closed. I called your uncle up on the telephone just before I came here this evening. He is coming over to-morrow morning to see if he can identify the body. Of course he can’t. You seem to be dead sure that it isn’t your father. So is Mr. Sikes and Undertaker Link. You all claim that your father was shorter by several inches and had lost several of his teeth. But your lawyer will look after all these points. Just sit tight, Baxter, and keep cool. Don’t leave town. Understand?” The company in Oliver’s sitting-room included the redoubtable and venerable Messrs. Sikes and Link, Judge Shortridge, Mr. and Mrs. Sage and Jane, Dr. Lansing and Mrs. Grimes. Sammy Parr was expected. He was to bring in the news of the streets. Oliver, a trifle pale but with a stubborn frown on his brow, listened calmly to the animated conversation that went on about him. He sat beside Jane on the sofa in the corner of the room. From time to time Mr. Sikes got up—with many a groan—and poked the blazing logs in the fireplace. He too was frowning. Mr. Link was cheerful. “If the worst comes, Bill,” said the latter, repeating himself for perhaps the third time, “we can certainly prove that there is insanity in the family. There’s his uncle, old Horace Gooch. He’s as crazy as a loon.” This was addressed familiarly to Judge William Shortridge, one time Justice of the Peace and now the Baxter lawyer. Mr. Sikes snorted. “Only by marriage, only by marriage,” he growled. “Insanity by marriage is no defense.” “I should like to know,” put in Mrs. Sage, “what possible motive Oliver could have had for killing his father.” “Oliver has not been accused of killing his father, Madam,” Judge Shortridge reminded her. “But if he _did_ kill him,” announced Mr. Link earnestly—“now, mind you, I’m not even hinting that he did—but, the thing is, if he _did_ do it, why, we can prove that he had the best motive in the world.”