Utter silence surrounded the mountain cabin. The steady hissing of the gasoline lantern was the only sound that reached Harley Raymand’s ears. There was no wind in the trees. The air was cold and still with that breathless chill which polishes stars into glittering brilliance.
It was, of course, absurd to think that the aura of death could make itself felt. Harley Raymand had seen death strike around him, to the right and to the left. He had trained himself to disregard danger. And yet, try as he would, a feeling persisted that gradually grew into a nervousness — a feeling that murder was in the air.
Those other deaths he had witnessed had been violent, full-blooded deaths in the heat of combat. Men, seeking to kill, had in turn, been killed. It was a fast game played in the open, and for high stakes — victory for the winner and death for the loser. But this was something different: a cold, sinister, silent death that struck furtively in the dark and then vanished, leaving behind only the body of its victim.
Harley realized that nine-tenths of his uneasiness was due to the feeling that he was being watched, that someone was keeping the cabin under a sinister surveillance.
He slipped out through the kitchen to the tree-shaded barbecue grounds, climbed the three long steps to the rustic porch, walked around to the front of the house, and stood by the porch rail, looking out at the stars.
Something flickered. A mere wisp of light that shone like a fitful firefly in the trees, and then was gone. Harley waited, tense, watching. He saw the light again. This time it was stronger, sufficiently powerful so that he could see shadows cast on a pine tree. He knew then that someone was picking a surreptitious way through the forest, using a flashlight only at intervals.
Harley flattened himself in the shadows, and waited.
After some three minutes he saw two figures come out in the open. For a moment they were silhouetted against a beam of light flashed against the white granite outcropping. Then the flashlight was extinguished and all was darkness.
Harley thought he could hear the faint hiss of cautious whispers. Noiselessly he left the porch. Moving slowly, with the night stealth he had learned as part of his military training, he approached the rock.
The flashlight came on once more, shielded by cupped hands, throwing a spot of illumination on the ground at almost the exact spot where he had discovered the clock.
He was close enough to hear the whisper. “This is the place.”
There was something vaguely familiar about that whisper. It was a woman’s voice. Hands were scraping away at the ground. Harley caught a glimpse of those hands. Long, tapering fingers, slender, graceful hands and wrists—
“Adele!” he exclaimed.
The flashlight went out. There was a little scream, then a nervous, almost hysterical laugh, and Adele Blane said, “Harley! You scared ten years’ growth right out of me... Are you alone?”
“Yes. Who’s with you?”
“Myrna Payson... Harley, what happened to the clock?”
“I don’t know. We couldn’t find it. It isn’t there.”
“You searched for it?”
“Yes... How did you get here? Why didn’t you come to the cabin?”
“I went to Myrna’s. We drove down to the first hairpin turn, left the car there and took a short cut. There’s a trail over the ridge, only about half a mile of good walking... I’m keeping myself out of circulation... But if anyone offered me a hot drink, I could certainly use one.”
“Got tea, coffee and chocolate,” Harley said. “Why doesn’t Myrna Payson say something?”
Myrna threw back her head and laughed. “What do you want me to say? As far as the hot drink is concerned, I’ll say yes.”
“Let’s go up to the cabin,” Adele suggested. “You’ll have to keep the curtains drawn, Harley. I don’t want anyone to know where I am.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story. I can’t tell you now. Harley, we’ve simply got to find where Jack hid that stuff he stole. It’s around here somewhere. That’s why he came up here with that spade... And I keep thinking the clock has something to do with it.”
“Well, let’s go to the cabin and talk it over. There’s no use looking at night.”
“I suppose not. I thought that clock would be here, and I could tell something from that. I’d been telling Myrna about it. She felt it was the best clue of all.”
“That’s one of the first things they looked for.”
“You told them about it?”
“Yes.”
“And they didn’t find it?”
“Not only that, but they can’t find any evidence that anything was ever buried there.”
“I wasn’t sure you were still here,” Adele said. “That’s why I was being so furtive. There’s no one else in the cabin, Harley?”
“No.”
“No one must know I’m here. Understand? Not a solitary soul.”
“It’s okay by me.”
They entered the lighted cabin. Myrna Payson frankly sized up Harley, grinned, and said, “Hello, neighbor. You remember me? I’m the cowgirl who has the ranch over on the plateau. The cattlemen all think I’m going broke because I’m a ‘fool woman’; and when I go to town, women look askance at me because I’m living ‘all by myself, cooking for three cowboys.’ On the one hand, I’m a fool; and on the other, a fallen woman. Pay your money and take your choice.”
“And a darned loyal friend,” Adele interposed.
Myrna Payson settled herself in a chair, thrust out high-heeled riding boots, fished a cloth sack of cigarette tobacco from her shirt pocket, and started rolling a cigarette, “Adele won’t admit it, but I think she’s wanted by the police, and concealing her will make me a real, sure-enough criminal.”
Adele said, “Don’t joke about it, Myrna. It’s serious.”
“I’m not joking,” Myrna said, spilling rattling grains of tobacco into the brown paper.
“I have some cigarettes here,” Harley said, reaching for the package of cigarettes.
“I’ll take one,” Adele said. “Myrna won’t.”
Myrna said, “Drop one of those tailor-mades, and it will start a fire, but I never saw a fire started with a rolled cigarette. What’s more, you can carry enough tobacco in a sack to really last you... Well, we seem to have lost the clock. What’s next, Adele?”
“I don’t know,” Adele admitted.
“Did you just drive up?” Harley asked Adele.
“I left my car in Roxbury. I got it out of the garage an hour or so ago, and drove up to Myrna’s ranch. She was out. I sat around twiddling my thumbs, waiting for her to come back.”
“Went to town after provisions,” Myrna explained. “Got back about half an hour ago and found Adele camped on my doorstep. She wanted to have reinforcements while she looked for the clock.”
Adele laughed nervously and said, “Not only reinforcements, but a witness. Otherwise someone might think I’d planted the clock myself.”
Myrna said practically, “You could have done it ten times over while I was in town.”
“Myrna! What are you talking about?”
Myrna scraped a match on the sole of her shoe. “Don’t lay your ears back, dear. I was just talking the way the police would.”
“I don’t like the police,” Adele said.
“Don’t blame you,” Myrna said through a cloud of smoke. “I don’t like them myself. Not as an institution. They’re too nosey. I—”
She broke off abruptly as the sound of an automobile horn came to their ears. A moment later they heard the throbbing of a motor.
Adele said, “I mustn’t be found here, Harley.”
“Why?”
“I can’t tell you. I just can’t be questioned right now. I’m keeping out of sight You and Myrna are going to be the only ones who know. If anyone comes here they mustn’t find me.”
“How about Mrs. Payson?” Harley asked.
“We can’t both hide very well,” Adele said, “and — yet it wouldn’t look right for her to be here with you... What time is it, Harley?”
“Around ten thirty.”
“Good Heavens!” Adele said.
Myrna Payson drew in a deep drag of smoke, exhaled slowly. Her words came lazily through the cigarette smoke, “It’s all right, Adele. I haven’t any reputation left, anyway. Go on and duck. Here they come.”
They heard steps on the porch. Rodney Beaton’s voice called, “Hello, the cabin! Are you still up?”
Adele slipped silently through the hallway into the bedroom.
Harley said reassuringly to Myrna Payson, “I won’t have to invite him in—”
“Nonsense,” she said. “I’ve come over for a visit. We’re just talking, that’s all. Invite him in as far as I’m concerned.”
Harley went to the front door, threw it open, said, “Come on in, Beaton, and—”
He broke off as he saw that Rodney Beaton was not alone. Lola Strague was with him. Harley regained his verbal composure, said affably, “Why hello, Miss Strague. Come on in. Mrs. Payson and I were getting acquainted. I’ve been away so long that I hardly know the country any more.”
Myrna Payson said easily, “Hello, Lola. Hello, Rod. I’ve been trying to get Harley to tell me about the war. He won’t talk.”
Harley noticed the tension between the two women, saw Lola Strague barricade herself behind a wall of watchful hostility. Myrna Payson, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly at ease, completely relaxed, but nevertheless gave the impression of being on her guard. Rodney Beaton was embarrassed, but Harley couldn’t tell whether it was because he had found Myrna Payson visiting the cabin at such an hour, or because he didn’t care to have Myrna know he had been out with Lola Strague.
“Is... anything wrong?” Harley asked somewhat awkwardly.
Rodney Beaton recovered his self-possession, laughed, “Heavens no! I forgot you don’t realize my nocturnal habits. We’ve been out tending cameras.”
“Any luck?” Harley asked.
Lola Strague accepted the chair Harley held for her, but sat stiffly erect. Beaton sprawled comfortably and informally. Myrna Payson continued to sit with her legs, incased in whipcords, extended in front of her. She was lounging easily in the chair, thoroughly enjoying herself so far as appearances were concerned.
Beaton said, “I’ve got three negatives to develop.”
“Know what animals you’ve got?” Harley asked.
“No, I don’t. I used to look for tracks, but now I’ve found it’s a lot more fun just to develop the negatives.”
“You have more than one camera?”
“Oh yes. I’ve got half a dozen scattered around.”
“Don’t you frighten the game away when you make the rounds?”
“No more,” Beaton said. “I have a new system now. I go around and set the cameras after it gets dark. Then I climb up on a point where I have good observation, settle down, and wait. When one of those flashbulbs goes off it makes quite a flare, illuminates quite a bit of territory. I can tell, of course, what camera it is. I make a note of the location of the camera and the time the flashbulb was discharged. After I’ve waited two or three hours, I go around and pick out the plates, reset the cameras, go to my cabin, and develop them.”
“And leave the cameras set?”
“Yes, I leave them until morning.”
“I don’t see why you watch them in the evening then.” “
So I can pick up the first batch of plates and reload the cameras that have been set off before midnight... Usually the best time is about four o’clock in the morning, but on the other hand I’ve had some very nice pictures around ten or eleven o’clock... We were driving by on our way home and thought we’d drop in just to see — well, to see if you wanted anything, or — well, if you were all right.”
Myrna Payson said with her slow drawl, “I reckon we all felt the same way. It would give me the creeps staying alone in a cabin where a murder had been committed. Harley says it doesn’t bother him any.”
Harley realized that his visitor had twice referred to him by his first name, so he laughed and said, “After all, if I were afraid, I’d hardly admit it to Myrna.”
Lola Strague said somewhat stiffly, “Well, I think we’d better be going. It’s really rather late for visiting, you know. I—”
Steps pounded up on the porch. Knuckles beat impatiently against the front door.
Myrna Payson said, “Well, it looks to me as though you’re going to have a convention. I thought we were all here.”
Harley started for the door. Before he had taken two steps Burt Strague’s impatient voice called out, “Hey, Raymand! Is my sister in there?”
“Oh, oh — he’s got the shotgun,” Myrna Payson said.
Harley flung open the door.
Burt Strague, his voice sharp with anger, said to his sister, “Oh, there you are.”
“Why, Burt! What’s the matter?”
“Matter! Where on earth have you been?”
“Why, out with Rodney.”
Burt repeated after her scornfully, “Oh yes, out with Rodney!”
Rodney Beaton moved forward. “Any objections?” he asked.
Lola managed to get between her brother and Rodney Beaton. “Burt!” she said, “don’t be like that! What on earth is the matter with you? I left a note telling you where I was going.”
“Think again. You mean you intended to leave a note, but forgot to do it.”
“Why Burt! I left it on the mantel, in the usual place.”
Burt said irritably, “It wasn’t there when I got there. I’ve been worried to death about you... I’m sorry, Rod, if I seem to be a little brusque, but I’ve been worried.”
“Burt, I’ve told you a dozen times that you’re not to worry about me,” Lola Strague said tartly. “I’m able to take care of myself.”
“Oh, yes. A murderer’s hanging around the country and I’m not supposed to worry... Well, skip it. I’ve certainly been combing these hills for you, prowling the trails, looking all over. Incidentally, Rod, I walked through one of your camera traps down there by the fallen log where you got the picture of the squirrel.”
“Tonight?” Rodney Beaton asked.
“Uh huh. Set off the flashlight. You probably got a good picture of me. As worried and annoyed as I was, I couldn’t help but laugh when that flashlight burst into illumination, thinking about how you’d feel when you made the rounds of your camera traps, got what you thought was a swell deer picture, started to develop it and saw me plodding along the trail.”
Beaton looked at his notebook. “That flashbulb exploded at nine-five,” he said. “Do you mean to say you’ve been wandering around all the time since then?”
“I’ve been all over these mountain trails, I tell you. I even went up to the old mining tunnel.”
Lola Strague became indignant. “What did you think I’d be doing in that old mining tunnel?”
“I didn’t know,” he said. “I got to the point where I was just a little bit crazy. I couldn’t find you anywhere... Just as a point of curiosity, where were you?”
“Out on that point where Rodney painted the picture of the sunset,” Lola said. “From there we can look down on the valley and tell whenever a flashlight goes off.”
Rodney Beaton said, “It’s my new system. Beats blundering around over the trails, and scaring the game to death.”
“And you mean to say you were up there all the evening?” Burt Strague asked, suspicion once more apparent in his voice. Rodney Beaton flushed.
“And you didn’t hear me whistle? Why, I walked past that trail whistling that whistle I always use to call Lola!”
“Sorry,” Beaton said somewhat stiffly.
“We didn’t hear you,” Lola said, then added hastily, “but of course, we weren’t particularly listening for you. We weren’t expecting to hear a whistle.”
Myrna Payson laughed, said as though closing the subject, “Oh well, the lost is found, so why worry about it?”
The strained silence of tension settled on the room. Quite apparently Burt Strague wanted to say something, yet was managing with difficulty to restrain himself for the moment. Rodney Beaton, while retaining his poise, yet maintained toward Burt Strague the attitude of an annoyed grown-up dealing with an impudent child.
“Well,” Myrna said, laughing and trying to make her voice casual, “someone say something.”
No one did.
It was apparent that when that silence was broken, friendships would also be broken. Lola Strague was perhaps the only one who had it in her power to ward off what was coming, and for some reason she seemed incapable of doing so at the moment.
It was against that background of a silence charged with static hostility that Adele Blane’s scream, high-pitched with terror, caught everyone by surprise.
Rodney Beaton whirled. “Good Lord, Raymand! That came from the room where Hardisty was murdered.”
Myrna Payson, without a word, got to her feet, started running toward the closed door which led to the bedroom. She had taken no more than three steps when the door burst open. Adele Blane, her hair streaming back from her head, her eyeballs glistening in the light of the gasoline lantern, her mouth stretched open to its fullest capacity, screamed into the corridor.
Behind her there was a glimpse of a shadowy figure; another figure darted across the field of illumination from the doorway. An arm lashed out in a blow. There was the sound of a brief struggle.
Myrna Payson caught Adele in her arms, said, “There, there, Honey. Take it easy.”
So imbued was Adele with the idea of flight, that she struggled to free herself, still screaming.
“What is it, Adele?” Rodney Beaton asked.
Harley Raymand said nothing. He pushed past the others, ran down the corridor which led to the bedroom. After a quick glance at Adele, Rodney Beaton crowded into the corridor behind him. Burt Strague took a hesitant step, then paused and turned to his sister. “Look here, Lola, you—”
She turned her back on him, and by that gesture shut off the unfinished sentence.
Harley Raymand went through the door of the bedroom, recoiled for a moment as the beam of a powerful flashlight stabbed him full in the face with blinding brilliance.
The voice of Jameson, the deputy sheriff, sounded crisp and competent. “It’s all right, Raymand,” he said. “We’ve just put Dr. Macon under arrest, and while we’re here, we’ll pick up Miss Adele Blane as a material witness.”
Raymand fell back in sheer surprise. Jameson pushed his way into the corridor. Behind him an assistant deputy was wrestling the handcuffed, and still struggling Dr. Macon toward the doorway.
Jameson said to the chalk-faced Adele Blane, “And the next time, Miss Blane, you play the police for a bunch of suckers, you might remember that we’re not entirely dumb.”