“Well, well, Roger, struck port again, have you?  Glad you’re back.”

And he shook my right hand hard.

“My friend, Mr. Harrison, from Chicago,” said I.  “This is my uncle, Captain Enos Moss.”

They had hardly finished hand-shaking, when Kate and the Widow Canby came out of the house.

“Oh, Roger, I’m so glad you’re back!” cried Kate.  And then she looked earnestly into my eyes.  “Did you—­ did, you—­”

“Yes, Kate, I’ve succeeded.  Father’s innocence can be proven.”

“Oh, thank God!” cried my sister, and the tears of joy started from her eyes.  I felt like crying, too, and soon, somehow, there was hardly a dry eye in the group.

“You must have had a hard time of it,” sail the Widow Canby.

“My kind friend here helped me a good deal,” I said.

Mr. Harrison was introduced to the others, and soon we were seated, on the piazza, and I was relating my experiences.

The interest of my listeners grew as I went on.  They could hardly believe it possible that Mr. Aaron Woodward, with all his outward show of gentlemanliness, was such a thoroughly bad man.  When I came to speak of John Stumpy, alias Ferguson, Kate burst out:—­

“I declare, I’ve almost forgotten.  I’ve got good news, too.  This very morning I went hunting again and picked up the paper that was lost.  I was trying to read it when you drove up.  Here it is.”

And my sister handed over Nicholas Weaver’s dying statement.

“It is hardly of use now,” I said.  “Still, it will make the evidence against Mr. Woodward so much stronger.”

“I’ve discovered that this Nick Weaver was a chum of Woodward’s,” said Uncle Enos.

“A chum?”

“Yes.  He came from Chicago.”

“From Chicago!” I ejaculated.

“Exactly.”

Meanwhile Mr. Harrison was examining the statement, which Kate had produced from her dress pocket.

“I see it all,” he cried.  “Nicholas Weaver was the man who helped Holtzmann concoct the scheme whereby a relative in Chicago was supposed to have died and willed Aaron Woodward all his money.”

“I see.  But why did he leave the statement?” I asked.

“Because, he says here, Woodward did not treat him right.  This Ferguson or Stumpy was a friend to Weaver, and the paper was gotten up to bring Woodward to terms.”

That explanation was clear enough, and I could easily understand why John Stumpy had come to Darbyville, and how it was the merchant had treated him with so much consideration.

“And there is another thing to tell you, Roger,” put in the Widow Canby.  “Something I know you will be greatly pleased to hear.”

“What is it?” I asked, in considerable curiosity.

“I have evidence to show that this John Stumpy was the man who robbed me of my money.  Of course I knew it was so when Kate and you said so, but outsiders now know it.”