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Updated: June 24, 2025
"I'd rather not excite suspicion." "All right," he replied, taking out a booklet and jotting down "Miss Root," and the address she had mentioned. "I'll write to you in the name the deaf woman remembers, or thinks she remembers, and no one need know who you are. If I hurry now I can catch the train that connects with the local on the Hartford division for Rockdale."
Garrison probed in every conceivable direction, but elicited nothing further of importance, save that an old-time friend of Hardy's, one Israel Snow, a resident of Rockdale, might perhaps be enabled to assist him. Taking leave of Durgin, who offered his hand and expressed a deep-lying hope that something could be done to clear all suspicion from his brother, Garrison returned to Rockdale.
Hardy had been a well-known figure, off and on, for many years in Rockdale, and the names of the Durgins and of Dorothy were barely less familiar. Garrison's difficulty was not that the people talked too little, but rather that they talked too much, and said almost nothing in the process. New trivialities were exceedingly abundant. He worked all day with no results of consequence.
"Because," he said, "I learned from your stepbrother, Paul Durgin, near Rockdale, that your uncle made a later will, and we've got to get trace of the document before you can know where you stand." Dorothy looked at him with her great brown eyes as startled as a deer's. "Another will!" she said. "I may have lost everything, after all! What in the world would become of Foster then and Alice?"
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