"Of course, as a brother professional, you know that your power of attorney from poor old Hugh ended with his appallingly sudden death. That demise also vacates the letter of instructions given to you." "But I am the vice-president of the company," growled Ferris, scenting a possible enemy in the imperturbable young advocate. "True, but you are not a judge on the bench. You have suspended all the officers here, usurped their powers, and taken great responsibilities. Do you control a majority of the stock of the Western Trading Company?" Ferris winced. "Of course, you know I don't; but the Worthington estate does!" "What power have you to represent that estate?" pursued the unpitying Witherspoon. "It looks as if Miss Worthington would act herself, and, also, have other advisers. I now, as a friend to all parties, warn you that you will be held responsible for all your acts here. You must not ask me for any further advice." "I suppose you will volunteer your legal acumen to the young heiress, now!" sneered Ferris. He regretted his brutal outbreak, for John Witherspoon rose with calmness. "I own five hundred shares of the stock myself, earned as a fee, from the late Mr. Worthington. "I shall claim my right to have access to the company's public offices, and to watch your strange floundering around here. We will drop our social and personal intercourse right here--forever. Your last remark is so vile that it is beneath contempt." Witherspoon was at the door when Ferris laid his pleading hands upon his arm. The Detroit man shook them off. "I warn you, Mr. Ferris," he said, "that a very reputable minority of the community, if not a majority, will believe that Randall Clayton was waylaid and murdered. Now, until you can show him up as a thief, I recommend you to use charity and forbearance. It is my belief that there has been some damnable foul play here." The dejected Ferris sat for an hour with his head buried in his hands, before he dared to answer his girl wife's imperative telegram. "I must wait here like a tongue-tied dog," he growled. "Has the will made her a sole legatee? If so, I must work on her feelings. I was a fool to quarrel with this fellow. He was another of the school-time playmates!" When Ferris sneaked out to send a submissive dispatch to his wife, he was tormented by the stern words of the young orphan's telegram. "I act under his last wishes. Find Randall Clayton, dead or alive." "There is trouble ahead," mused Ferris, "and I have made enemies of all the officials here. But Alice is mine. I hold her in the hollow of my hand. My wife! That she cannot gainsay." When he had sent off his message he felt strangely cheered by the reflection that Worthington probably left ten to fifteen millions behind him. "There's enough for all," he cheerily reflected. "I'll let her play 'Miss Millions' a bit, but when the probate proceedings come up, she'll find a husband is a hard thing to deal with."