“It’s no slander, but gospel truth,” affirmed Joe. “I had it straight from mother’s friend, Mrs. Watson, who was companion to Mrs. Fordyce before they went abroad, and I know it’s true by the way Duncan Fordyce acted when he heard me allude to the kink in his family,” and in a few words he described the scene in the Turkish Bath. “That explains Fordyce’s lack of cordiality at Captain Nichol’s quarters after the drill,” commented Barnard. “If I were you, Cooper, I’d steer clear of arousing his wrath.” “He can’t injure me,” Joe swaggered with the courage induced by overindulgence. “And you’ve been mighty white this evening; it’s only right I should tip you off.” “Keep your confidences to yourself,” Barnard rose and kicked the fire into a brighter blaze. “The matter does not concern me.” “Doesn’t it, eh? Well, if I was planning to marry a girl, an’ I heard her family were dotty----” he stopped and shrank back as Barnard swung on him. “What do you mean by your damnable insinuation?” he demanded, his eyes flashing with indignation. “’Tisn’t a ’sinuation; it’s--it’s gospel truth I’m telling you,” stuttered Joe, retreating to the farther end of the sofa. “Take your hand off my collar. Anybody in San Francisco’ll tell you the Fordyces are all crazy.” “You’ve said too much, and too little,” Barnard slowly returned to his chair. “Go ahead and make good your statement, if you can,” significantly. “And I warn you if I catch you lying, I won’t leave it to Duncan Fordyce to finish you off.” “Nice way to talk to a friend who wants to do you a good turn,” whined Joe. “You can prove what I say by writing to Mrs. Watson at Santa Barbara. She says whenever any member of the Fordyce family dies the physicians have to cauterize them--what do you make of that?” triumphantly. “Only a precautionary measure to test death,” said Barnard calmly. “I suppose the Fordyces have a dread of being buried alive.” “That applies to their mental condition----” Barnard shook his head in utter disbelief, and Joe continued heatedly. “I tell you they are unbalanced; why the old lady, Mrs. Fordyce----” “Is a hunchback, yes,” admitted Barnard. “She was injured in a railroad accident--that has nothing to do with mental trouble.” “I’ve been told that injury to the spine does often affect the brain,” Joe stuck obstinately to his contention. “Anyway Mrs. Fordyce developed a mighty funny craze about dirt.” “Dirt?” Barnard’s attention was fully aroused. “Do you mean she has mysophobia?” “Maybe that’s the word; what does it mean exactly?” “Mysophobia? A morbid fear of contamination--of soiling one’s hands by touching anything....” “That’s it!” exclaimed Joe. “Mrs. Fordyce has a bad case of it. Mrs. Watson said she insisted on washing her plates, knives, and forks before eating; and she gave up traveling because of the dirt and dust which nearly drove her mad, and just shut herself up.” “Poor soul!” ejaculated Barnard compassionately. “She must be in perpetual torment.”