betraying that he didn't share them. Exacting in every detail, Cranston still
held to the premise that the locked store room must be considered empty all
along, until proven otherwise, just as Steve Kilroy should be regarded innocent
unless actual facts of his guilt could be established.
Through frequent analysis, Cranston had long since learned that
circumstantial evidence was a product found in clusters; that one false fact was
often paralleled by others. Cracking one would throw doubt on another; hence to
prove that robbery hadn't happened would be the right step toward selling the
idea that Steve Kilroy might not be the murderer. Certainly the part didn't fit
the young but well-trusted legal representative of Associated Metallurgy
"So the robbers must have trucked the goods away," remarked Cranston, as
soon as comment had subsided. "Very well, coroner, perhaps you can show me the
road they would have followed."
Rubbing his chin, the coroner began to run his finger here and there upon
the map, muttering that the rains had been right heavy lately and that the clay
roads would have mired even a light truck. He was considering the better
highways, when Cranston added:
"Remember, coroner, these prowlers were seen. It follows that their truck
would also have been seen or heard if it came too close to this house."
That caused a change in the corner's calculations, forcing his finger to
range wider on the map. Little dots worried him, marks representing the gates in
Treft's very extensive fence, until suddenly the coroner brought his finger to a
line that looked like an endless centipede, running within a quarter mile of the
mansion.
"They railroaded the goods!" exclaimed the coroner. "That's what the
varmints did. Put the stuff right on a freight that was waiting while the crew
went ahead to look for landslides. They stop right here in the cut on Monday
nights, which was when the prowlers was about!"
"Only on Mondays?" inquired Cranston.
"Mondays and Thursdays," replied the coroner. "That's when the freights run
southbound. They come north Tuesdays and Fridays, so they stop further below.
Last night was Wednesday, the day there isn't any freight."
"You're getting results, coroner," complimented Cranston. "Perhaps you
ought to inform the sheriff."
The coroner had a dash of nonchalance. He demonstrated it by turning over
his coat lapel. On the under side was a glistening badge that bore the word
"Sheriff." That reminder of his double capacity put his mind on a new trend. His
finger formed a large circle on the map.
"We've covered all this area hunting for Kilroy," declared the
coroner-sheriff. "Been working innard, fixing to miss nothing. He couldn't have
got outside the circle ahead of us, not without his car and we've took care of
that. The deputies came back through the railroad cut and they searched the
caverns down by Blue Creek.
"Kilroy must know this locality to be dodging us still and that proves his
accomplices must have told him, since he was never hereabouts afore. Looks like
we've narrowed it down to Big Mud Swamp as the only place he could be hiding and
if the water moccasins haven't done him in already, our blood-hounds will.
"We found the gun he threw away after killing Treft and we'll be keeping it
for evidence. Funny thing, his chucking that and hanging onto the little statue
that he must have stole off that stand there in the corner, considering, that
