"I don't suppose half a dozen people in the town were ever inside his door until to-night," said Watt Harbison, speaking for the first time. Gilmore turned to look at the colonel's nephew as if he had only that moment become aware of his presence. What he saw did not impress him greatly, for young Watt, save for an unusually large head, was much like other young men of his class. His speech was soft, his face beardless and his gray eyes gazed steadily but without curiosity on, what was for him, an uncliented world. For the eighteen months that he had been an "attorney and counselor at law" the detail of office rent had been taken care of by the colonel. "Sort of makes the game he played seem rotten poor sport," commented Gilmore, replying to the nephew but looking at the uncle. The colonel was silent. "Rotten poor sport!" repeated Gilmore. "Who'll come in for his property?" asked Watt Harbison. "Oh, some one will claim that," said Gilmore. "They were saying down at the store, that once, years ago, a brother of his turned up, here, but McBride got rid of him." "Suppose we have a look around before we settle ourselves for the night," suggested Watt Harbison. "Will you join us, Colonel?" asked the gambler. But the colonel shook his head. Gilmore took up one of the lamps as he spoke and opened a door that led into what had evidently once been a dining-room, but it was now only partly furnished; back of this was a kitchen, and beyond the kitchen a woodshed. Returning to the front of the house, they mounted to the floor above. Here had been the old merchant's bedroom; adjoining it were two smaller rooms, one of which had been used as a place of storage for trunks and boxes and broken bits of furniture; the other room was empty. "We may as well go back down-stairs," said the gambler, halting, lamp in hand, in the center of the empty room. Harbison nodded, and leading the way to the floor below, they rejoined the colonel in the sitting-room, where they made themselves as comfortable as possible. The colonel and his nephew talked in subdued tones, principally of the murdered man; they had no desire to exclude their companion from the conversation, but Gilmore displayed no interest in what was said. He sat at the colonel's elbow, preoccupied and thoughtful, smoking cigar after cigar. Presently the colonel and his nephew lapsed into silence. Their silence seemed to rouse Gilmore to what was passing about him. He glanced at the elder Harbison. "You look tired, Colonel," he said. "Why don't you stretch out on that lounge yonder and take a nap?" "I think I shall, Andy, if you and Watt don't mind." And the colonel quitted his chair. "Better put your coat over you," advised the gambler.