Trafford looked at her as if doubting whether he should ask the question that hung on his lips. But he must have facts, and here if anywhere was the information he needed. Could he trust the woman? Finally he came and stood over her chair, as if he was afraid of the walls even, and asked: “Was this always his habit?” “No,” she answered; “not while the judge was living, and never indeed until about two years ago. Yes, it began about two years ago.” “It was not a habit learned from the judge, then?” “Oh, no! Of course, he brought papers home at times, and so did Theodore; but he never kept them at home until within the last two years.” “Did Cranston ask you about this?” Trafford demanded. “No,” she said, “no, he did not.” “If he does, avoid answering him, if possible.” Then he stopped as if he had gone too far, and she, seeing his embarrassment, checked the answer that came to her lips. He sat for some time silent, and then glanced up to intercept a look that she bent upon him. “What is it?” he asked. “Have you talked with Mr. Hunter--the one who was in Theodore’s office, I mean?” “Is he of the same family as Mr. Hunter who owns the great logging interests?” “His brother.” “How long has he been in the office?” he asked carelessly--so carelessly that she forgot he had not answered her question. “About two and a half years. I think Theodore thought him an acquisition and had great confidence in his ability.” “A good stock,” he said, “for pushing.” Then he added after a short pause: “Mrs. Parlin, at the inquest you expressed in the strongest terms your confidence that the statement presented was actually written by your husband. Have you had any cause since to change your mind?” “Not the slightest,” she said. “On the contrary, the facts there stated account for many things that were strange to me before. There is no question as to the facts, and none as to his having written them.”