He added the last words, as it were, as an apology for the mistake itself. As a matter of fact, Matthewson had known nothing of the assault until some days after it took place, but he scorned a denial that must seem like an effort to escape responsibility, and so said nothing to disabuse the other’s mind of the belief that he had helped plan the assault. “The most serious aspect of that affair,” Trafford continued, “was the death of the Canuck--Victor Vignon.” But Matthewson was not in a mood to feel keenly the death of a mere logger, whom he had never seen and whose importance, in comparison with the good name and continued power of the Matthewson family, was as nothing. He did not care even to assume an interest for the sake of appearance. He was thinking, thinking fast, and only half hearing what Trafford was saying. Suddenly his attention was again aroused. “What is the nature of these papers?” the other was asking. “With knowledge of that, I could narrow the circle of interest, so that I would have to deal with only a few men.” “It can’t be the men who are interested in the papers by reason of their contents who did the murder,” said Matthewson, speaking rapidly. “I know them and can answer for every one of them--that is, so far as they knew of the existence of the papers. It is some one who regards them from the point of their saleability. It’s their money value.” Trafford had seen this possibility already, but it did not satisfy him. He felt that he could form a sounder judgment than this man, but to do it he must have the facts and this man must give them to him. “If you are correct,” he said, “you must see that you narrow the line of enquiry to three men. I must know what the papers were to determine which of these three is the man. I have asked you before, what is the nature of the papers?” “Do not think me ungrateful, if I decline to answer. I would trust you with everything, but the secret belongs to others no less than myself.” “Mr. Matthewson,” said Trafford seriously, “it is not pleasant to have to play hide and seek with you. I’ve had to remind you once before that the inquest is public. If I have this question asked there, you’ll have to answer or----” “Go to jail,” Matthewson said, completing the sentence. “I know. I’ve thought of that. I shouldn’t answer.” Matthewson drummed on the table and looked at his companion. Even his political power could not shield him from the consequence of a refusal to answer a question put to him at the inquest on such a murder as this. Surely the cause must be a serious one that induced him even to think of such an act. Trafford took up another line: