"I--I--must know, Judy," and his voice was harsh and broken with emotion.
The answer came reluctantly: "I reckon you-all knows where that there money went ter." The girl's answer sent a new thought like a hot iron into Brian Kent's tortured brain.

He caught Judy's arm in quick and fearful excitement.
"Judy!" he gasped, imploringly, "Judy, do you--?
does Auntie Sue know--?
does she know that I-- ?" "How could she help knowin'?
She ain't no fool.

An' I done heard that there Sheriff an' the deteckertive man tellin' her 'bout you an' the bank.

An' the Sheriff, he done give her a paper what he said told all 'bout what you-all done, an' she must er burned the paper, or done somethin' with hit, 'cause I couldn't never find hit after that night.
An' what would she do that for?
And what for did she make me promise not ter ever say nothin' ter you-all 'bout that there money letter?
An' why ain't she said nothin' to you 'bout the letter from the bank not comin', if she didn't know hit was you 'stead of them what done got the money ?" The girl paused for a moment, and then went on in a tone of reverent wonder: "An' to think that all the time she could a-turned you-all over to that there Sheriff an' got the money-reward to pay her back what you-all done tuck." Brian Kent was as one who had received a mortal hurt.

His features were distorted with suffering.