Like a general Bonniwell dispatched his forces, and like obedient soldiers his men obeyed. Jake Somers brought a vicious looking submachine gun from the touring car. He walked with it to the head of the road leading down from Eagle’s Crag and seated himself upon a boulder. No one could now leave or enter Eagle’s Crag without his permission.
Monk Moon, the squat man, and Heinie Krausmeyer, a roly-poly blank-faced man, frisked the Eagle’s Crag guests. Then the two disappeared into the lodge.
Mrs. Egan, who had been quiet for a little while spoke then. “That Monk man,” she said. “I recognize him now. He’s Tim Moon’s boy, Alfred. He was raised down there in the valley.” She shook her head. “I never liked him even as a boy. Too sly and sneaky. I allus said he’d come to a bad end.”
“Quite right, ma’am,” agreed Lou Bonniwell. “Monk’ll get hanged some day, if he don’t get shot first.”
Danny Dale stepped forward brightly. “Say, Mr. Bonniwell, I was listening to the radio last night. That was some escape you made from the penitentiary.”
Bonniwell looked at Danny. “Sonny, I was hopin’ there wouldn’t be no kids here. Always complicates things.”
Danny Dale reddened. “I’m not a kid. I’m twenty and I’m a university graduate. I even have a master’s degree.”
A fleeting smile crossed Bonniwell’s face. “Is that so, now? Well, bub, you just watch your p’s and q’s and you won’t get hurt. I never went to college myself, but I been around.”
Danny Dale retreated. Quade looked around at the others. Besides himself there were Frederick Cummings, Marty Faraday, Judy Vickers and her mother, Mrs. Egan and McClosky. Plus four escaped convicts and killers. And one dead man down on the road — murdered by someone on Eagle’s Crag.
“Just so there won’t be no mistake, folks,” Bonniwell said, “we killed two guards when we made the break yesterday morning. In the afternoon we knocked off a cop when we got the guns and stuff at the police station. You can imagine what the law’s gonna do to us if they catch up. Now, I got no quarrel with any of you here. I’m only here because this is a good hideout. We may be here a day or a week. Maybe, two. Until we leave you folks are gonna stay put. Understand?”
After a while Monk Moon and Heinie Krausmeyer came out of the lodge, carrying three shotguns, two rifles and a small pistol. “We found ’em here and there, boss.”
“My husband was a huntin’ man,” said Mrs. Egan. “Them shotguns and rifles was his’n. The pea-shooter, I dunno.”
“That’s mine,” said Cummings. “I–I always carry it with me when I’m traveling.”
“I’ll mind it for you, Mister,” said Bonniwell. “O.K., Monk, toss ’em in the car. Then git out the glasses and kinda look out over them six States and seven counties. The rest of you,” he turned to the Eagle’s Crag folk, “just go about your business. Only don’t get too close to Jake’s machine-gun there.”
Monk Moon brought a big pair of military field glasses from the car. He started toward the rear of the lodge. Quade followed him leisurely. Monk chuckled as he fondled the glasses. “I never had nothin’ like this when I was a kid. Boy, I bet I see four States.”
Behind the lodge the mountain fell away in a sheer precipice. Quade approached it gingerly. “A drop of over two thousand feet,” he grimaced.
“On practically three sides,” said Monk. “Only way up or down is by that road.”
“Hey, you!” called Bonniwell, coming up.
Quade turned. “I wasn’t intending shoving him over,” he said.
“I know you wouldn’t commit suicide by a stunt like that,” Bonniwell said. “Couple of the folks back there say you said that bozo down on the road was murdered instead of bit by a snake. What’s that — a bit of malarkey? You got plenty of it.”
“I have at that,” admitted Quade. “I wouldn’t be the book salesman I am if I didn’t have it. But I was telling the truth about that chap. He was murdered. Someone killed the rattlesnake with a club then put the club in this fellow’s hand after killing him — only he didn’t know the man was left-handed and put it in his right hand to make it look as if he’d killed the snake. Aside from that, take a look at the man’s calf, where the snake was supposed to have bitten him.”
“I think I will,” said Bonniwell. “The thing kinda makes me curious. Come along.”
They walked past Jake Somers sitting on the boulder with his machine-gun. Bonniwell casually dropped behind Quade then, keeping one hand near his waist-band in which was stuck an automatic. When they reached the body of the dead man Quade pointed to Thompson’s left leg. The trouser leg was pulled up part way and two angry red spots were plainly visible. Quade pointed at them. “See how far apart the punctures are? And how deep?”
“No rattler ever did that,” Bonniwell laughed shortly. “There’s a murderer in your crowd. I’m kinda curious to know which of you gazabos had the nerve to pull a job like this. Offhand, I’d say it was you.”
“Not me,” denied Quade. “I’m just a book salesman who happened to drift up here thinking I could make a couple of sales. I never saw any of these people before today.”
“Hmm,” mused Bonniwell. “A while ago you were shooting off about how smart you was. You claimed to know just about everything.”
“That’s right. I’m the Human Encyclopedia.”
“But you don’t know who killed this guy?”
Quade shrugged. “I’m more interested in knowing why he was killed. I’ve been playing with an idea how to find out.”
“What is it?”
“Well, Cummings, the fat play boy back there, says Thompson told him he was an accountant. Often accountants have opportunities to get their hands on large sums. My guess is that Thompson stole a wad of money and came here to hide out until the smoke blew away.”
“I think you got something there, fella. Say, ride this hunch of yours and find out how much dough this bozo had and maybe where it is.”
Quade knew that the escaped convict was exceedingly eager to acquire a large sum of money. It would be mighty handy for a quick getaway once he left Eagle’s Crag. It might even persuade him to leave sooner and Quade desired that very much.
They went back to the lodge and Bonniwell herded all those on Eagle’s Crag, with the exception of Jake Somers, into the big livingroom.
“Folks, there’s a murderer among us,” Bonniwell began and Danny Dale promptly snickered. The escaped convict stared at him coldly. “Sonny,” he said. “I’m trying hard to remember you’re just a kid and my mother told me always to treat women folks and kids with kindness.” He gestured to Quade. “You carry on.”
“Have you thrown in with them?” asked Judy Vickers.
Quade looked steadily at the girl and she flushed. He said then, “Harold Thompson was murdered. I’m sure of that. I’m also pretty sure that he was a fugitive from justice, an absconder. I believe he had his loot with him and was killed for it.”
The crowd began murmuring and looking at one another. Quade continued, “Mr. Cummings, you say Thompson told you he was from Buffalo. I imagine, therefore, that he was actually from the opposite direction. New York, I’d say. You’re from there. Have you heard of anyone recently who ran off with a large sum of money?”
Cummings puckered up his mouth. “Mmm, in New York there’s always someone stealing from his firm. The biggest one I heard of lately was a trusted employee of the Horgan Packing Company who ran off with eighty thousand dollars. But the man’s name was Miller, I believe, not Thompson.”
“It’s him!” cut in Mrs. Mattie Egan. “I mind only last week when I was — well, sorta looking through his stuff that I found some handkerchiefs with the initial M on them. I thought it funny, seein’s how his name was Thompson.”