He was well built and muscular and had a smooth, harmless face. The face was so void of expression that, to Matt, it showed a lack of character.
Ferral was carrying the candle. Through its gleams, he and the newcomer stared at each other.
"Why--why," murmured the youth who had just entered, "can this be my cousin Dick?"
"You've taken my soundings all right, Sercomb," answered Ferral coolly. "Wasn't you expecting me?"
"Well, yes, in a way," and Sercomb's eyes roamed to Matt. "We got track of you down in Texas, and the lawyer said he'd sent word, but we didn't know whether you'd come or not."
"Where have you been, Sercomb?" and Matt saw Ferral's keen eyes studying the other's face.
"I've been spending the evening at a neighbor's," he replied, "my nearest neighbor's--a mile away through the hills."
"Got out of an up-stairs window, didn't you?" asked Ferral caustically.
"What do you mean?" demanded Sercomb, a slight flush running into his face.
"Why, when you started to make that call you left all the lower windows fastened and both outside doors bolted on the inside."
"There's some mistake," answered Sercomb blankly. "When I went away I left the front door open. We don't go to the trouble of locking doors in this country, Dick."
"Well, these were locked when I got here. What's more, there were four men in a room up-stairs playing cards. Come, come, you grampus! Don't try to play fast and loose with me. How did you and the other three lubbers get out of the house? And why wouldn't you let me in when I rapped?"
"Look here," blustered Sercomb, "what do you take me for? You never liked me, and you're up to your old trick of suspecting me of something crooked whenever anything goes wrong. I was hoping you'd got over that. Uncle Jack was all cut up over the way you treated me, and he never could understand it. Now that he's dead and gone, I should think we might at least be friends."
"Dead and gone, is he," asked Ferral quickly. "How do you know?"
Ferral was dazed, as though some one had struck him a blow in the face. Matt, who was watching Sercomb intently, thought he saw an exultant flash in his eyes as he spoke.
"The poor old chap," Sercomb went on, "was tucked away in a thicket of bushes, less than a stone's throw from the house. I don't know whether there was any foul play--I haven't been able to find his Hindu servant, Tippoo, yet, but there weren't any marks on the body. I laid Uncle Jack away in the grove, and I'll show you the place in the morning. The will was in his coat-pocket, and wrapped in a piece of oilskin. It was very sad, very sad," and Sercomb averted his face for a moment; "and to think that neither you nor I, Dick, was with him. But come into the other room. I'm tired and want to sit down and rest."