He went to the fireplace and threw on a fresh log; the fire leaped up and its light filled the room. Benson gazed at him with some interest. “That's better,” said Gibbs cheerfully. “We can see to talk now.” “What do you want, Gibbs? What brings you skulking back?” “You're making it very difficult for me to keep my temper, Jake,” said the captain blandly. “I didn't skulk. Can't you guess why I am here?” “No.” “Oh, try again, Jake, you didn't half try.” “I am too indifferent to try,” retorted Benson. “You deserve—” “Never mind what I deserve,” interposed the captain with a touch of sullenness. “I was merely going to observe in a general way, that a coat of tar and feathers would not be unappropriate; and Tucker had a good many friends who probably think the same.” The captain shifted his position before the fire, but his face turned a trifle pale. “I came here to see about my wife's property.” “Your wife? I didn't know you had a wife.” “Well I have,” doggedly. “It's a damn funny thing you can't understand who I mean when I say my wife.” “Then you have married her?” Gibbs hitched his chin higher at this. “I'm a man of honour,” he said briefly. “Oh, are you!” retorted the lawyer contemptuously. “Are you prepared to dispute it?” demanded Gibbs truculently. “It's hardly worth disputing,” said Benson. “But you haven't told me why you've come to see me.” “Haven't I? Well, I hardly thought that would be necessary,” said the captain smilingly. In the main he was a cheerful person, and his resentments were for the most part short lived. “You were Tucker's lawyer, weren't you?” “Oh, I see!” and the two men looked at each other in silence for a moment; then Benson spoke again. “You say you have married Mrs. Tucker; I'll take your word for that when you produce the proofs.” Captain Gibbs again laughed shortly, and took a large leather pocket-book from an inner pocket of his coat, and from one of its many compartments drew forth a folded slip of paper. “Here they are,” he said. Benson with great deliberation lighted a taper at the fire, and then the candles on the mantel; then he took the folded slip of paper from Gibbs and leisurely examined it. “The lady's to be congratulated,” he observed sarcastically. “Thanks,” said the captain sententiously. “I am not mistaken, am I, in supposing that you were Mr. Tucker's lawyer at the time of his death?” “No.” “Did he leave a will?” “He did.” “As—as Mrs. Tucker's husband, have you any objection to telling me how he disposed of his property; and its extent?” “Not the least in the world.” There was another pause. The captain was waiting for Benson to go on; but Benson was silent. “To whom was the property left?” Gibbs questioned. “To your wife.” Benson suddenly handed back the paper the captain had given him. “Here, take this, I don't want it,” he said. “How much did he leave?” inquired Gibbs, with illy-concealed eagerness. “About fifteen thousand dollars.”