I wanted to clear my title to the entire estate.
If the boy working there that night had not followed Fremont
into the room, he, Fremont, would have been attacked also."
"Then Fremont stood in your way?" asked Nestor.
Fremont, remembering Big Bob's talk with him about his early
association with Mr. Cameron, his mention of the will, bent
closer, a startled expression on his face.
"Yes, he stood in my way," was the reply. "He is the son of
Cole Tolford, who was killed in New York a long time ago,
and would have inherited the property."
"And Mr. Cameron knew that?" asked Nestor, his old suspicions,
voiced to Fremont at the time they talked of Mother Scanlon,
recurring to his mind.
"Of course he knew," was the reply. "With Cameron out of the way,
and the boy ignorant of his parentage, I would have been safe.
Still, I thought best to put Fremont out of my way also. Then
there could have been no danger, for I was the next heir."
"I understand!" Nestor said, greatly shocked at the revelation
of the cold-blooded murder plot. "You had seen Fremont about
the building, and yet you pretended not to know him after your
men had taken him prisoner?"
"I knew him," was the faint reply. "My men captured the boy
I described to them. I preferred that my men should think I
had captured a marplot who had ruined their plans. Then they
would have thought nothing of my killing him. But Ren Downs interfered."
"That is the man who lies dead out there?"
Another nod from the injured man, now almost too weak to talk.
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