In the afternoon I went to the address of the mother. The house was a small one in Greenside, but the woman appeared a respectable widow, and I found her quietly preparing the supper of her sons, two of whom supported her. She seemed a superior person to be in such a situation; and noting that fact I guessed that her son, though a poor worker, must have had some natural refinement. I told her I had called to make some inquiries about her son, and she probably thought I meant one of the younger members of her family, for she smiled brightly, and invited me to enter. While I accepted the offer I studied her quiet and somewhat shadowed features, and quickly decided that I had before me a woman who, if she had occasion, could throw as many obstacles in my way as any one who ever hampered a detective. “It is your son Richard, I mean,” I quietly continued, as I sat down at the clean little fireplace. The mother gave a great start, and I saw the hands busy at the supper grow suddenly tremulous. She looked at me, too, but it was not so much a look of surprise as of searching inquiry or suspicion. “What about him?” she cautiously returned, when she had recovered somewhat. “I want to know where he lives, what he does, and all about him,” I quickly answered. I fully expected her to blurt out, possibly with tears, that her son was dead, but no such words rose to her lips. She stared at me keenly for a moment or two, as if trying to discover from my appearance what was the nature of my occupation, and then she said— “What are you? a sheriff-officer or something of that kind?” “Something of that kind,” I lightly returned. “Now, about your son Richard. Is it true that he is dead?” “I suppose that fiend that he married has sent ye here?” she said with great energy; “but if she has, ye’ll get naething oot o’ me.” “Well, but you told her he was dead,” I persisted; “either he is dead or he is not.” “Ay.” “And you showed her a certificate of death bearing his name?” “Did I?” “If you altered that name you committed a felony, and are liable to arrest and imprisonment.” “Am I? I’m no feared,” she answered, with a sneer and a toss of the head. “Will you let me see that certificate?” “Humph! will I, indeed! Ye’ll see nae papers here, I can tell ye.” “We can force it.” “Force awa’ then—naebody’s hinderin’ ye.” “Come, come now—it is quite evident to me that you have something to conceal,” I said, fairly baffled. “Everybody has,” she grimly returned. “Perhaps your son has paid you to be silent?” A flashing look was the answer; it said scornfully—“As if that would be necessary!” “Did you forge the certificate?”