Was it because of Molly that the old man had been so short with him? The thought galloped through Johnny’s mind. Did Jackson Kent see in him a possible suitor for her hand—an undesirable, financially irresponsible suitor? Had there been talk, whisperings behind his back? Had Molly said anything? A dozen questions leaped to his mind. He shook his head wearily as he turned for the door, anxious to be away from this house which only a few minutes before he had been loath to leave. Another step would have taken him to the door, when he stopped, mouth open, his eyes bulging as if they could not believe what they beheld. Slowly the foot which he had poised in mid-air came down; but the accusing finger which he had pointed at the thing beside the door did not waver. “Great God!” he groaned. “That’s a copy of the picture I’ve got in my pocket!” It was, beyond question. Set in a small gold frame hung beside the door was an exact duplicate of the photograph he had found in the dead man’s wallet. With cold fingers he held up the picture that he drew from his pocket until it rested beside the one on the wall. They were the same! Eyes transfixed, Johnny stared on and on, and as he stood there spellbound, the door opened. Jackson Kent faced him. Something too big for words held the two for a brief second. Johnny was the first to react. Surreptitiously the hand holding the picture moved to his pocket, but he was too late. The old man had been staring at it. Fingers of steel caught and held Johnny’s arm. The surprise had died out of Kent’s eyes. They were flashing now with a madman’s fury. The boy could feel the man’s hot breath upon his cheek. Johnny heard the other’s voice break as he fought for speech. Then, with heaving lungs, old Jackson cried out: “Give it to me! Give it to me—do you hear?” His voice arose until it became almost a scream as he demanded: “What are _you_ doin’ with _that_ picture of my little girl?” Kent’s hungry fingers lunged for the coveted photograph. Johnny’s eyes had narrowed to mere slits. “No!” he exclaimed. “I keep that picture. It belongs to a dead man!” CHAPTER VIII STRAIGHT TALK Johnny had immediate cause to regret his melodramatic words. “Give me his name! Tell me who he was!” the old man shouted. And obviously Johnny could not answer truthfully. He pondered lie after lie without finding one to pass muster. Kent saw his helplessness. “You can’t answer, eh? Well, maybe you can tell me what you’re doin’ here in this room.” “Tony and I came to git our stuff,” Johnny replied. “Your stuff? It ain’t in here, is it?” “I had a little present for Miss Molly. I wanted to leave it where she’d git it. I reckoned I’d not be seein’ her again, soon.” “Present?” Old Jackson’s lips curled contemptuously. “I’ll bring all the presents she needs. You been treated most like one of the family round here, so you show your gratitude by shinin’ up to my girl, eh?”