“And what makes you think this is the same child? The baby you saw may have died and this may be a child born a year or two later.” “It ain’t. It’s the same. There weren’t never any other children. I kep’ my eye on ’em. Moreau was mining round among the camps and afterward was in Sacramento for a spell, and I was round in them places off and on myself. I saw him, but I dodged him ’cause I knew he didn’t want to run up against me, knowin’ as how I was onter what he’d done. He was safe for me. But I seen the girl often; seen her grow up. And I knew her in a minute the day I saw you walkin’ with her on Sutter Street, and I thinks to myself, ‘You’re with the biggest heiress in San Francisco if you and she only knew it.’ And that’s what she is, if there was somethin’ else but my word to prove it.” Essex sat pushed back from the table, his hands in his pockets, his pipe nipped between his teeth, his face partly obscured by the floating clouds of smoke that hung about his head. “A first-rate story,” he said slowly; “have some more whisky.” And he pushed the bottle toward Harney, who seized it and fumblingly poured the fiery liquor into the glass. “And it’s true,” he said hoarsely--“every blamed word.” He drank what he had poured out, set down the glass and stared at Essex with his face puckered into its expression of evil cunning. “And _she_ don’t know anything about it, does she?” he asked. “If you mean Miss Moreau, she certainly appears to think she is the child of the man who brought her up.” “That’s what I heard. But Shackleton, when Moreau died, was goin’ to do the square thing by her. At least, I heard talk of his sendin’ her to Europe to be a singer. Ain’t it so?” “I heard something about it myself. But I’m no authority.” There was a pause. Harney settled back in his chair. The room was exceedingly hot, and impregnated with the odor of whisky and the smoke from Essex’s pipe. “He couldn’t acknowledge her. It would er given the other children too big a black eye. But it seemed like he wanted to square things up when he was taken off suddent like that.” He paused. The other, smoking, with frowning brows and wide eyes, made no response, his own thoughts holding him in tense immobility. “And the other wife wouldn’t er stood it, anyway. She’s a pretty competent woman, I guess. Oh, he couldn’t have acknowledged her, nohow. But she’s his legitimate daughter, all right. She’s the lawful heir to--most er them--millions. She’s--” His voice broke and trailed off into silence, which was suddenly interrupted by a guttural snort and then heavy, regular breathing. Essex rose, and, going to the window, opened it. A keen-edged breeze of air entered, seeming all the fresher from the dense atmosphere of the room. Its hurried entrance sent the smoke wreaths scurrying about in fantastic whorls and curls. The dying fire threw out a frightened flame. Essex moved toward it, saying as he approached: