"He lived entirely alone, saw no one, I understand," said Bladen.

"Alone with his two or three old slaves--yes, sir. He wouldn't
even see me; Joe, his old nigger, would fetch orders for this or
that. Once or twice I rode out to see him, but I wa'n't even
allowed inside that door; the message I got was that he couldn't
be disturbed, and the last time I come he sent me word that if I
annoyed him again he would be forced to terminate our business
relations. That was pretty strong talk, wa'n't it, when you
consider that I could have sold the roof from over his head and
the land from under his feet? Oh, well, I just put it down to
childishness." There was a brief pause, then Crenshaw spoke
again. "I reckon, sir, if you know anything about the old
general's private affairs you don't feel no call to speak on that
point?" he observed, and with evident regret. He had hoped that
Bladen would clear up the mystery, for certainly it must have
been some sinister tragedy that had cost the general his grip on
life and for twenty years and more had made of him a recluse, so
that the faces of his friends had become as the faces of
strangers.

"My dear sir, I know nothing of General Quintard's private,
history. I am even unacquainted with my clients, who are distant
cousins, but his nearest kin--they live in South Carolina. I was
merely instructed to represent them in the event of his death and
to look after their interests."

"That's business," said Crenshaw, nodding.