The prosecutor was on his feet. He pointed to the window at the side of the office. He stepped over and jiggled the broken catch. Tim Forey emitted a growl.
“That’s it,” he decided. “Say — have I been dumb. That killer was looking for trouble last night. But he didn’t want us to get wise to him. He knew the Luger has us puzzled. So he sneaked in here and armed himself with it.
“That side street is black as pitch at night. Anybody could sneak into town without being seen. After he took the gun and killed Twinton, the guy came back. Left the Luger here just to make a sap of me — to have us doing some more blind guessing.
“It wouldn’t take a smart gazebo to pull that stunt. But the clever part was the idea. We’re as bad off as we were before. Humph. The guy did it neat. No traces here in the office. Well, prosecutor, you’ll have to keep the evidence in your safe from now on.”
“How soon could the man have gotten here after the murder?” inquired Trobers. “I presume that he would have returned promptly with the gun.”
“Well,” mused Forey, “by cutting across lots, he could have passed the Breck house inside of ten minutes. Fifteen more would have got him to the top of the hill, I reckon. He could have made as good time — maybe better — coming back.”
“You don’t think—”
“I’m thinking nothing, prosecutor. Not until Mr. Hubert has examined this Luger gun. But I guess it’s a sure bet that this pistol fired those bullets.”
Harry Vincent was pondering as he drove back along the devious road to Elbert Breck’s home. He was considering the travel time, by foot, between Breck’s and the sheriff’s office. Ten minutes each way — twenty altogether. Harry began to see a possible reason for the late returns of Craven and Elbert Breck. But there his thoughts divided. He would prepare a report; the rest would remain with The Shadow.
Harry Vincent did not know that The Shadow, last night, had found evidence to prove that someone other than Elbert and Craven could have been up the hill and back into the town. The Shadow was watching events outside of Breck’s house. To Harry belonged the task of checking those within.
The vital point of Harry’s report would be the news that the second bullet was fired from the Luger pistol. That, to The Shadow, would mean more than even Harry Vincent supposed.
CHAPTER XIV
WORD SPREADS
SHERIFF TIM FOREY was paradoxical in his methods. There were times when the big-fisted official remained closemouthed. On other occasions, he decided to talk. No one — not even Forey himself — could explain just which policy would develop.
Forey had tried to preserve secrecy about the death of Grantham Breck. Possibly his failure to track the murderer had made him decide to work differently in the case of Ezekiel Twinton. Whatever the reason, the result was that the story of the Luger pistol reached many ears by nightfall.
People discussed the matter in the town of Chanburg. They carried it with them to Laporte, and other neighboring places. Forey began to feel that he had chosen a good plan. Certain it was that someone had prowled into town last night. There was a chance that some native might bring in word of having seen the person who entered the sheriff’s office.
But Chanburg was a nine o’clock town. Anything that happened after midnight would fail to raise the fast-sleeping burghers. In this section of the hinterland, nothing short of a fire whistle could have aroused the sleepers from their beds.
There was one exception to the rule. Occasionally, people were about at eleven thirty on account of the arrival of the Union Limited. Enterprising folk sometimes came home on that train. There were others, traveling northward, who now and then went out on it.
Harry Vincent was scheduled to stay longer in Chanburg. This made it wise for him to send a routine telegram to Rutledge Mann. Harry happened to go over to the station just about the time the Union Limited was scheduled to arrive. The windows of the waiting room were open when Harry got there. The Shadow’s agent heard voices. He found three passengers for the Union Limited talking outside the ticket window. The train was late.
Harry received a telegraph blank from Zach Hoyler. The agent went back to his table; Harry listened in while he was writing out the message to Mann. The men from town were discussing the developments of the day.
“SAY,” said one, “it ain’t no secret now why Tim Forey’s been looking glum. That first murder had him buffaloed. That’s hot, ain’t it, him finding the gun up at Breck’s?”
“Don’t hold a candle to the second murder,” grunted a second man. “Boy! I’ll bet Forey went cuckoo when he found out the fellow had swiped that German gun and put it back again. Used it to kill Ezekiel Twinton, by heck!”
“Forey’s worried,” announced the third townsman. “Do you know what he’s after? He’s hoping that somebody might have seen that fellow coming in and out. That’s what.”
The other two men laughed. Then the first speaker adopted a serious tone.
“Listen, fellows,” he said. “We’re live wires, us three. So we can talk together; but don’t let nobody in town know what I said. Chanburg’s just about the deadest town on the map. I say that even though I do live there.”
“Is it on the map?” jeered the second man.
“I reckon not,” replied the first. “Say — if we had a nine o’clock curfew most of the folks would complain because it woke ‘em up at night.”
“You’re right, brother.”
“I know it. Well — here’s what I’m driving at. That smart fellow who took that gun and put it back in Tim’s office knew he was plenty safe. There’s two places around here where nobody won’t see you if you walk through after midnight.”
“Chanburg’s one. Is there another?”
“Sure. Over on Brown Hill. The old grave-yard.”
The other townsmen laughed. Their conversation ended abruptly. The whistle of the Limited had sounded. Zach Hoyler was coming from his little office.
Harry Vincent lingered until after the train had left. He pushed the telegram through the ticket window, just as the station agent returned. Turning to go out, Harry ran into a stocky man who had just entered. He saw a square, challenging face. It was Harry Vincent’s first meeting with Perry Nubin.
The Shadow’s agent left. Nubin strolled about. After he heard the coupe roll away, the dick peered through the ticket window. Hoyler had not yet picked up Harry’s telegram. Nubin drew it from the window, read it and put it back. Hoyler came over to get it.
“WELL, gum-shoe,” greeted the agent. “I suppose you were riding stylish again tonight.”
“Yeah,” responded the detective. “Say — I was down in Laporte today. What’s this I hear about another murder? Did somebody plug a guy named Ezekiel Twinton?”
“Someone did. Too bad you weren’t working in back of this window, Hawkshaw. You’d have heard all about it.”
“How come?”
“Tim Forey let the details out. He had the pistol down in his office — the one that was used to murder old Breck — and somebody climbed in there. Used the same gun to bump off Twinton. Then put it back.”
“Humph. Used the Luger again, eh?”
“So Tim admits.”
“Got him puzzled?”
“Plenty. The expert is up from New York. Says the gun fired both bullets.”
“Where’s the pistol now?”
“Guess they’ve put it away in a safe.”
“It won’t do them much good,” remarked Nubin. “It’s tough to trace any killer through a foreign-made gun.”
“Why should it be?” asked Hoyler.
“Well” — Nubin paused — “most guns have a history, leastwise the kind that murderers use. But if old Breck imported that rod direct from Germany — or got it from a smuggler — there wouldn’t be much chance of learning anything. You say the expert’s still around?”