“Well, if nothing happened to him, and it was all a mistake,” Dewitt said, “why hasn’t his wife heard from him?”
“Because he has amnesia. He’s had another lapse of memory.”
“Could be,” Dewitt said in a tone that failed to show any conviction. “Since we’re taking off the masks, I may as well tell you I’m a sergeant detective in charge of the missing persons department of— Well, here, take a look at my credentials, all of you.”
“Please let’s get started,” Corliss Adrian said. “I don’t want to make any trouble for anyone. All I want is to find Frank. Please let’s go.”
Now, as they arrived at the cabin, Dewitt, inspecting the reddish-brown stains on the wall, promptly took charge. “Those stains are blood,” he said. “Now, let’s be careful not to disturb anything in the cabin. Hank, show me exactly where it was you found the letter.”
Hank Lucas replaced the letter behind the boxes. “Right here,” he said. “It was sticking out just about like this.”
“As much as that?”
“That’s right. Just about like this.”
“I see. Let’s take a look at this stove.”
Hank said, “Doesn’t seem to be any firewood or kindling here, but I can go out and get some dry wood and in just a few minutes have this whole cabin heated up.”
“Definitely not,” Dewitt said. “We’ll leave everything exactly as it is, except that we’ll look through these ashes down below the grate here.”
Dewitt found a piece of flat tin from which he made a scoop and began shoveling the ashes. After the second shovelful, he gave an exclamation.
There were four or five badly charred buttons in the ashes.
“I guess you folks better get out,” Dewitt said to Corliss and Marion. “It's beginning to look bad. You girls wait outside. We don’t want any evidence obliterated. You’d better wait over there by the door, Hank. This is a case where too many cooks spoil the broth. I know exactly what to do and how to do it. Remember, this is right down my alley.”
Corliss and Marion went outside. Corliss was crying, Marion indignant. Hank strolled off down the trail, which he said probably led to a spring.
There followed a period of waiting in an atmosphere of hostility. Marion and Corliss sat on a fallen log, maintaining a distance of some eight feet, both apparently intent upon the scenery, both under emotional tension.
Then Hank Lucas came walking back rather hurriedly. He talked briefly to Dewitt. The men took off, carrying with them a shovel which had been standing in the corner of the cabin by the stove. Corliss apparently failed to appreciate the significance of Hank's errand, but Marion waited, watching with fear-strained eyes as the men walked rapidly down the path toward the spring.
When they returned, some twenty minutes later, Marion knew what had happened merely from their attitudes. Dewitt, bustling in his efficiency, was now very definitely in charge. Hank, coming along behind him carrying the shovel, had a dejected droop to his shoulders.
Dewitt said, “Corliss, we want you.”
She came to him, and Dewitt engaged in low-voiced conversation, glancing almost surreptitiously at Marion. Marion saw Corliss catch her breath, heard her half scream; then they were gone down the trail, leaving Marion seated on the log very much alone. They were back within ten minutes. The cold hostility of Dewitt’s eyes confirmed her worst fears.
He said, “It’s my duty to inform you. Miss Benton, that we have discovered the body of Frank Adrian. The evidence is unmistakable that he was shot in the back of the head with a high-powered rifle, firing a soft-nosed bullet. In view of other evidence I've found, there can be no question but what your brother was the murderer.”
Marion was on her feet. “How dare you say any such thing! You are making a superficial appraisal of circumstantial evidence. My brother may have been living with him, but he wasn’t the only man in these mountains. After all, Adrian was mentally deranged. He—”
“Shot himself in the back of the head with a rifle?” Dewitt asked sarcastically.
“Well, I guess there are other people in these mountains. My brother and Adrian might have found a rich mine and—”
“That,” Dewitt said coldly, “is something you can try to prove to a jury after we’ve caught your brother.”
“Or,” Marion went on desperately, “that body could be someone else.”
“The identification is absolute,” Dewitt said. “Not only is there an identification by Corliss despite the state of the body due to the time it’s been in a shallow grave, but there are certain means of identification which were given me by Corliss before she ever came in here. There’s no question about the identity of the body. And, as far as my duty is concerned, it’s plain. Your brother is a fugitive from justice. He has a head start — too big a head start. But there seems to be no question as to the trail he took in going out, and I am going to ride over that trail. There’s a telephone at the other end of it.”
Hank Lucas was downright apologetic when he moved up to talk with Marion after Dewitt had gone over to comfort Corliss. “There’s another way out of this country,” he said. “It’s only about fifteen miles of trail from here and gets you to an automobile road. There's a ranch there and a telephone. Dewitt feels he should get in there right away, and I’ve got to guide him. Corliss is pretty much all in, but she doesn’t want to remain here.”
“Hank, tell me,” Marion said tearfully. “I don't trust this man on the evidence. He's a prejudiced, overhearing, bullying—”
“He’s a pretty good detective,” Hank Lucas said. “As far as the evidence he’s uncovered is concerned, Marion, there are half a dozen clues that tell the whole story.”
“And the body’s that of Frank Adrian?”
“Doesn’t seem to be any question about that... We don’t feel that it’s right for you to hang around the cabin the way things are. Don't you want to go back to camp and stay there with Kenney and the cook?”
“I don't. I want to get out of this country. I want to get away,” Marion said, feeling her voice rise almost to the point of hysteria. “I want to talk with someone who’s got some sense. I want to find the sheriff of this county.”
“That’s right,” Lucas said soothingly. “The sheriff is a square shooter, but there’s no use kidding ourselves. So far the evidence is dead open and shut.”
“If they accuse Harry of this I’ll get the best lawyer money can buy,” Marion stormed indignantly.
“Now, don’t go making any mistake on that,” Hank said. “That’s where you really could get in bad. Don’t go act any high-priced city lawyer and bring him in here to this county. You take the run-of-the-mill country lawyer up here, and he understands cabin fever. The jury understands cabin fever, and the lawyer understands the jury—”
“We’re wasting time,” Dewitt interrupted. “We haven’t too much daylight left. We’ll have to ride fast. Think it will be necessary to take a packhorse with our sleeping hags?”
“Nope,” Hank said. “There’s a ranger station there and a ranch. We can get them to put us up for the night, if we have to. But I think probably we can get an auto to drive out from Boise and rick us up.”
“Let’s get started,” Dewitt said.
“This is going to be tough,” Hank warned.
Dewitt was grim. “We can take it. This is part of the day’s work — my work...”
It wasn’t until shortly after dark that the four horsemen rounded the last turn of a trail that had seemed absolutely interminable and saw an oblong of light, heard the sound of a radio.
Corliss Adrian was virtually in a state of collapse. Dewitt, holding grimly to the saddle horn, lurched along like a sack of meal. Marion, accustomed as she was to a proper scat in the saddle, was unspeakably weary. Only Hank Lucas seemed perfectly at case and untired.