Cole grinned whimsically at his friend.
"Do we light out now or wait for the cops?" he asked.
"We wait. They'd probably find out, anyhow, that we'd been here."
Five minutes later a patrol wagon clanged up to the Paradox. A sergeant of police and two plainclothes men took the elevator. The sergeant, heading the party, stopped in the doorway of the apartment and let a hard, hostile eye travel up and down Lane's six feet.
"Oh, it's you," he said suspiciously.
Kirby smiled. "That's right, officer. We've met before, haven't we?"
They had. The sergeant was the man who had arrested him at the coroner's inquest. It had annoyed him that the authorities had later released the prisoner on bond.
"Have you touched the body or moved anything since you came?" the sergeant demanded.
"No, sir, to both questions, except the telephone when I used it to reach headquarters."
The officer made no answer. He and the detectives went into the bedroom, examined the dead valet's position and clothes, made a tour of the rooms, and came back to Lane.
"Who's your friend?" asked the sergeant superciliously.
"His name is Cole Sanborn."
"The champion bronco buster?"
"Yes."
The sergeant looked at Sanborn with increased respect. His eyes went back to Kirby sullenly.
"What you doing here?"
"We were in my uncle's apartment lookin' things over. We stepped out on the fire escape an' happened to notice this window here was open a little. It just came over me that mebbe we might discover some evidence here. So I got in by the window, saw the body of the Jap, an' called my friend."
"Some one hire you to hunt up evidence?" the officer wanted to know with heavy sarcasm.
"I hired myself. My good name is involved. I'm goin' to see the murderer is brought to justice."
"You are, eh?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'll say you could find him if anybody could."
"You're entitled to your opinion, sergeant, just as I am to mine, but before we're through with this case you'll have to admit you've been wrong."
Lane turned to his friend. "We'll go now, Cole, if you're ready."
The sergeant glared at this cool customer who refused to be appalled at the position in which he stood. He had half a mind to arrest the man again on the spot, but he was not sure enough of his ground. Not very long since he had missed a promotion by being overzealous. He did not want to make the same mistake twice.
The Wyoming men walked across to Seventeenth Street and down it to theEquitable Building. James Cunningham was in his office.
He looked up as they entered, a cold smile on his lips.
"Ah, my energetic cousin," he said, with his habitual touch of irony."What's in the wind now?"
Kirby told him. Instantly James became grave. His irony vanished. In his face was a flicker almost of consternation at this follow-up murder. He might have been asking himself how much more trouble was coming.
"We'll get the writing translated. You have it with you?" he said.
His eyes ran over the pages Lane handed him. "I know a Jap we can get to read it for us, a reliable man, one who won't talk if we ask him not to."
The broker's desk buzzer rang. He talked for a moment over the telephone, then hung up again.
"Sorry," Cunningham said, "I'm going to be busy for an hour or two. Going to lunch with Miss Phyllis Harriman. She was Uncle James's fiancée, perhaps you know. There are some affairs of the estate to be arranged. I wonder if you could come back later this afternoon. Say about four o'clock. We'll take up then the business of the translation. I'll get in touch with a Japanese in the meantime."
"Suits me. Shall I leave the writing here?"
"Yes, if you will. Doesn't matter, of course, but since we have itI'll put it in the safe."
"How's the arm?" Kirby asked, glancing at the sling his cousin wore.
"Only sprained. The doctor thinks I must have twisted it badly as I fell. I couldn't sleep a wink all night. The damned thing pained so."
James looked as though he had not slept well. His eyes were shadowed and careworn.
They walked together as far as the outer office. A slender, dark young woman, beautifully gowned, was waiting there. James introduced her to his cousin and Sanborn as Miss Harriman. She was, Kirby knew at once, the original of the photograph he had seen in his uncle's rooms.
Miss Harriman was a vision of sheathed loveliness. The dark, long-lashed eyes looked out at Kirby with appealing wistfulness. When she moved, the soft lines of her body took on a sinuous grace. From her personality there seemed to emanate an enticing aura of sex mystery.
She gave Kirby her little gloved hand. "I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Lane," she said, smiling at him. "I've heard all sorts of good things about you from James—and Jack."
She did not offer her hand to Sanborn, perhaps because she was busy buttoning one of the long gloves. Instead, she gave him a flash of her eyes and a nod of the carefully coiffured head.
Kirby said the proper things, but he said them with a mind divided. For his nostrils were inhaling again the violet perfume that associated itself with his first visit to his uncle's apartment. He did not start. His eyes did not betray him. His face could be wooden on occasion, and it told no stories now. But his mind was filled with racing thoughts. Had Phyllis Harriman been the woman Rose had met on the stairs? What had she been doing in Cunningham's room? Who was the man with her? What secret connected with his uncle's death lay hidden back of the limpid innocence of those dark, shadowed eyes? She was one of those women who are forever a tantalizing mystery to men. What was she like behind the inscrutable, charming mask of her face?
Lane carried this preoccupation with him throughout the afternoon. It was still in the hinterland of his thoughts when he returned to his cousin's office.
His entrance was upon a scene of agitated storm. His cousin was in the outer office facing a clerk. In his eyes there was a cold fury of anger that surprised Kirby. He had known James always as self-restrained to the point of chilliness. Now his anger seemed to leap out and strike savagely.
"Gross incompetence and negligence, Hudson. You are discharged, sir. I'll not have you in my employ an hour longer. A man I have trusted and found wholly unworthy."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Cunningham," the clerk said humbly. "I don't see how I lost the paper, if I did, sir. I was very careful when I took the deeds and leases out of the safe. It seems hardly possible—"
"But you lost it. Nobody else could have done it. I don't want excuses. You can go, sir." Cunningham turned abruptly to his cousin. "The sheets of paper with the Japanese writing have been lost. This man, by some piece of inexcusable carelessness, took them with a bundle of other documents to my lawyer's office. He must have taken them. They were lying with the others. Now they can't be found anywhere."
"Have you 'phoned to your lawyer?" asked Kirby.
"'Phoned and been in person. They are nowhere to be found. They ought to turn up somewhere. This clerk probably dropped them. I've sent an advertisement to the afternoon papers."
Kirby was taken aback at this unexpected mischance, but there was no use wasting nerve energy in useless fretting. He regretted having left the papers with James, for he felt that in them might be the key to the mystery of the Cunningham case. But he had no doubt that his cousin was more distressed about the loss than he was. He comforted himself with the reflection that a thorough search would probably restore them, anyhow.
He asked Hudson a few questions and had the man show them exactly where he had picked up the papers he took to the lawyer. James listened, his anger still simmering.
Kirby took his cousin by the arm and led him into the inner office.
"Frankly, James, I think you were partly to blame," he said. "You must have laid the writing very close in the safe to the other papers. Hadn't you better give Hudson another chance before you fire him?" His disarming smile robbed both the criticism and the suggestion of any offense they might otherwise have had.
In the end he persuaded Cunningham to withdraw his discharge of the clerk.
"He doesn't deserve it," James grumbled. "He's maybe spoiled our chance of laying hands on the man who killed Uncle. I can't get over my disappointment."
"Don't worry, old man," Lane said quietly. "We're goin' to rope an' hogtie that wolf even if Horikawa can't point him out to us with his dead hand."
Cunningham looked at him, and again the faint, ironic smile of admiration was in evidence. "You're confident, Kirby."
"Why wouldn't I be? With you an' Rose McLean an' Cole Sanborn an' I all followin' the fellow's trail, he can't double an' twist enough to make a getaway. We'll ride him down sure."
"Maybe we will and maybe we won't," the oil broker replied. "I'd give odds that he goes scot free."
"Then you'd lose," Kirby answered, smiling easily.
Miss Phyllis Harriman had breakfasted earlier than usual. Her luxuriant, blue-black hair had been dressed and she was debating the important question as to what gown she would wear. The business of her life was to make an effective carnal appeal, and she had a very sure sense of how to accomplish this.
A maid entered with a card, at which Miss Harriman glanced indolently. A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, but it was not wholly one of amusement. In the dark eyes a hint of adventure sparked. Her pulses beat with a little glow of triumph. For this young woman was of the born coquettes. She could no more resist alluring an attractive man and playing with him to his subsequent mental discomfort than she could refrain from bridge drives and dinner dances. This Wild Man from Wyoming, so strong of stride, so quietly competent, whose sardonic glance had taken her in so directly and so keenly, was a foeman worthy of her weapons.
"Good gracious!" she murmured, "does he usually call in the middle of the night, I wonder? And does he really expect me to see him now?"
The maid waited. She had long ago discovered that Miss Phyllis did not always regulate her actions by her words.
"Take him into the red room and tell him I'll be down in a minute,"Miss Harriman decided.
After which there was swift action in the lady's boudoir.
The red room was scarcely more than a cozy alcove set off the main reception-room, but it had a note of warmth, of friendly and seductive intimacy. Its walls whispered of tête-à-têtes, the cushions hinted at interesting secrets they were forever debarred from telling. In short, when Miss Harriman was present, it seemed, no less than the clothes she wore, an expression of her personality.
After a very few minutes Miss Phyllis sauntered into the room and gave her hand to the man who rose at her entrance. She was simply but expensively gowned. Her smile was warm for Kirby. It told him, with a touch of shy reluctance, that he was the one man in the world she would rather meet just now. He did not know that it would have carried the same message to any one of half a dozen men.
"I'm so glad you came to see me," she said, just as though she were in the habit of receiving young men at eleven in the morning. "Of course I want to know you better. James thinks so much of you."
"And Jack," added Lane, smilingly.
"Oh, yes. Jack, too," she said, and laughed outright when their eyes met.
"I'm sure Jack's very fond of me. He can't help showing it occasionally."
"Jack's—impulsive," she explained. "But he's amenable to influence."
"Of the right sort. I'm sure he would be."
He found himself the object of a piquant, amused scrutiny under her long lashes. It came to him that this Paris-gowned, long-limbed young sylph was more than willing to let him become intrigued by her charms. But Kirby Lane had not called so early in the day to fall in love.
"I came to see you, Miss Harriman, about the case," he said. "My good name is involved. I must clear it. I want you to help me."
He saw a pulse of excitement flutter in her throat. It seemed to him that her eyes grew darker, as though some shadow of dread had fallen over them. The provocative smile vanished.
"How canIhelp you?" she asked.
"If you would answer a few questions—"
"What questions?" All the softness had gone from her voice. It had become tense and sharp.
"Personal ones. About you and my uncle. You were engaged to him, were you not?"
"Yes."
"There wasn't any quarrel between you recently, was there?"
A flash of apprehension filled her eyes. Then, resolutely, she banished fear and called to her aid hauteur.
"There was not, though I quite fail to see how this can concern you,Mr. Lane."
"I don't want to distress you," he said gently, "Just now that question must seem to you a brutal one. Believe me, I don't want to hurt you."
Her eyes softened, grew wistful and appealing. "I'm sure you don't. You couldn't. It's all so—so dreadful to think about." There was a little catch in her throat as the voice broke. "Let's talk of something more cheerful. I want to forget it all."
"I'm sure you do. We all want to do that. The surest way to get it out of our minds is to solve the mystery and find out who is guilty. That's why I want you to tell me a few things to clear up my mind."
"But I don't know anything about it—nothing at all. Why should you come to me?"
"When did you last see my uncle alive?"
"What a dreadful question! It was—let me think—in the afternoon—the day before—"
"And you parted from him on the best of terms?"
"Of course."
He leaned toward her ever so little, his eyes level with hers and steadily fastened upon her. "That's the last time you saw him—until you went to his rooms at the Paradox the night he was killed?"
She had lifted her hand to pat into place an escaping tendril of hair. The hand remained lifted. The dark eyes froze with horror. They stared at him, as though held by some dreadful fascination. From her cheeks the color ebbed. Kirby thought she was going to faint.
But she did not. A low moan of despair escaped from the ashen lips.The lifted arm fell heavily to her lap.
Then Kirby discovered that the two in the red room had become three.Jack Cunningham was standing in the doorway.
His glance flashed to Lane accusingly. "What's up? What are you doing here?" he demanded abruptly.
The Wyoming man rose. "I've been asking Miss Harriman a question."
"A question. What business have you to ask her questions?" demandedJack hotly.
His cousin tried a shot in the dark. "I was asking her," he said, his voice low and even, "about that visit you and she paid to Uncle James's rooms the night he was killed."
Kirby knew instantly he had scored a hit. The insolence, the jaunty confidence, were stricken from him as by a buffet in the face. For a moment body and mind alike were lax and stunned. Then courage flowed back into his veins. He came forward, blustering.
"What do you mean? What visit? It's a damned lie."
"Is it? Then why is the question such a knockout to you and Miss Harriman? She almost fainted, and it certainly crumpled you up till you got second breath."
Jack flushed angrily. "O' course it shocked her for you to make such a charge against her. It would frighten any woman. By God, it's an outrage. You come here and try to browbeat Miss Harriman when she's alone. You ask her impudent questions, as good as tell her she—she—"
Kirby's eyes were like a glittering rapier probing for the weakness of his opponent's defense. "I say that she and you were in the rooms of Uncle James at 9.50 the evening he was killed. I say that you concealed the fact at the inquest. Why?" He shot his question at the other man with the velocity of a bullet.
Cunningham's lip twitched, his eye wavered. How much did his cousin know? How much was he merely guessing?
"Who told you we were there? How do you know it? I don't propose to answer every wild accusation nor to let Miss Harriman be insulted by you. Who are you, anyhow? A man accused of killing my uncle, the man who found his valet dead and is suspected of that crime, too, a fellow who would be lying behind the bars now if my brother hadn't put up the money to save the family from disgrace. If we tell all we know, the police will grab you again double-quick. Yet you have the nerve to come here and make insinuations against the lady who is mourning my uncle's death. I've a good mind to 'phone for the police right now."
"Do," suggested Kirby, smiling. "Then we'll both tell what we know and perhaps things will clear up a bit."
It was a bluff pure and simple. He couldn't tell what he knew any more than his cousin could. The part played by Rose and Esther McLean in the story barred him from the luxury of truth-telling. Moreover, he had no real evidence to back his suspicions. But Jack did not know how strong the restraining influence was.
"I didn't say I was going to 'phone. I said I'd a jolly good mind to,"Cunningham replied sulkily.
"I'd advise you not to start anything you can't finish, Jack. I'll give you one more piece of advice, too. Come clean with what you know. I'm goin' to find out, anyhow. Make up your mind to that. I'm goin' through with this job till it's done."
"You'll pull off your Sherlock-Holmes stuff in jail, then, for I'm going to ask James to get off your bond," Jack retorted vindictively.
"As you please about that," Lane said quietly.
"He'll choose between you or me. I'll be damned if I'll stand for his keeping a man out of jail to try and fasten on me a murder I didn't do."
"I haven't said you did it. What I say is that you and Miss Harriman know somethin' an' are concealin' it. What is it? I'm not a fool. I don't think you killed Uncle any more than I did. But you an' Miss Harriman have a secret. Why don't you go to James an' make a clean breast of it? He'll tell you what to do."
"The devil he will! I tell you we haven't any secret. We weren't inUncle's rooms that night."
"Can you prove an alibi for the whole evening—both of you?" the range rider asked curtly.
"None of your business. We're not in the prisoner's dock. It's you that is likely to be there," Jack tossed out petulantly.
Phyllis Harriman had flung herself down to sob with her head in the pillows. But Kirby noticed that one small pink ear was in the open to take in the swift sentences passing between the men.
"I'm intendin' to make it my business," Lane said, his voice ominously quiet.
"You're laying up trouble for yourself," Jack warned blackly. "If you want me for an enemy you're going at this the right way."
"I'm not lookin' for enemies. What I want is the truth. You're concealin' it. We'll see if you can make it stick."
"We're not concealing a thing."
"Last call for you to show down your cards, Jack. Are you with me or against me?" asked Kirby.
"Against you, you meddling fool!" Cunningham burst out in a gust of fury. "Don't you meddle with my affairs, unless you want trouble right off the bat. I'm not going to have a Paul Pry nosing around and hinting slanders about me and Miss Harriman. What do you think I am? I'll protect my good name and this lady's if I have to do it with a gun. Don't forget that, Mr. Lane."
Kirby's steady gaze appraised him coolly. "You're excited an' talkin' foolishness. I'm not attackin' anybody's good name. I'm lookin' for the man who killed Uncle James. I'm expectin' to find him. If anybody stands in the way, I'm liable to run against him."
The man from Twin Buttes bowed toward the black hair and pink ear of his hostess. He turned on his heel and walked from the room.
It was essential to Kirby's plans that he should be at liberty. If he should be locked up in prison even for a few days the threads that he had begun to untangle from the snarl known as the Cunningham mystery would again be ensnared. He was not sure what action James would take at his brother's demand that he withdraw from the bond. But Lane had no desire to embarrass him by forcing the issue. He set about securing a new bond.
He was, ten minutes later, in the law offices of Irwin, Foster & Warren, attorneys who represented the cattle interests in Wyoming with which Kirby was identified. Foster, a stout, middle-aged man with only a few locks of gray hair left, heard what the rough rider had to say.
"I'll wire to Caldwell and to Norman as you suggest, Mr. Lane," he said. "If they give me instructions to stand back of you, I'll arrange a new bond as soon as possible."
"Will it take long? I can't afford to be tied up behind the bars right now."
"Not if I can get it accepted. I'll let you know at once."
Kirby rose. He had finished his business.
"Just a moment, Mr. Lane." Foster leaned back in his swivel-chair and looked out of the window. His eyes did not focus on any detail of the office building opposite. They had the far-away look which denotes a preoccupied mind. "Ever been to Golden?" he asked at last abruptly, swinging back in his seat and looking at his client.
"No. Why?"
"Golden is the Gretna Green of Denver, you know. When young people elope they go to Golden. When a couple gets married and doesn't want it known they choose Golden. Very convenient spot."
"I'm not figuring on gettin' married right now," the cattleman said, smiling.
"Still you might find a visit to the place interesting and useful. I was there on business a couple of weeks ago."
The eyes of the men fastened. Lane knew he was being given a hint thatFoster did not want to put more directly.
"What are the interestin' points of the town?" asked the Twin Buttes man.
"Well, sir, there are several. Of course, there's the School of Mines, and the mountains right back of the town. Gold was discovered there somewhere about fifty-seven, I think. Used to be the capital of the territory before Denver found her feet."
"I'm rather busy."
"Wouldn't take you long to run over on the interurban." The lawyer began to gather toward him the papers upon which he had been working when the client was shown in. He added casually: "I found it quite amusing to look over the marriage licenses of the last month or two. Found the names there of some of our prominent citizens. Well, I'll call you up as soon as I know about the bond."
Lane was not entirely satisfied with what he had been told, but he knew that Foster had said all he meant to say. One thing stuck in his mind as the gist of the hint. The attorney was advising him to go to the court-house and check up the marriage licenses.
He walked across to the Equitable Building and dropped in on his cousin James. Cunningham rose to meet him a bit stiffly. The cattleman knew that Jack had already been in to see him or had got him on the wire.
Kirby brushed through any embarrassment there might be and told frankly why he had come.
"I've had a sort of row with Jack. Under the circumstances I don't feel that I ought to let you stay on my bond. It might create ill-feelin' between you an' him. So I'm arrangin' to have some Wyoming friends put up whatever's required. You'll understand I haven't any bad feeling against you, or against him for that matter. You've been bully all through this thing, an' I'm certainly in your debt."
"What's the trouble between you about?" asked James.
"I've found out that he an' Miss Harriman were in Uncle James's rooms the night he was killed. I want them to come through an' tell what they know."
"How did you find that out?"
The eyes of the oil broker were hard as jade. They looked straight into those of his cousin.
"I can't tell you that exactly. Put two an' two together."
"You mean youguessthey were there. You don'tknowit."
A warm, friendly smile lit the brown face of the rough rider. He wanted to remain on good terms with James if he could. "I don't know it in a legal sense. Morally, I'm convinced of it."
"Even though they deny it."
"Practically they admitted rather than denied."
"Do you think it was quite straight, Kirby, to go to Miss Harriman with such a trumped-up charge? I don't. I confess I'm surprised at you." In voice and expression James showed his disappointment.
"It isn't a trumped-up charge. I wanted to know the truth from her."
"Why didn't you go to Jack, then?"'
"I didn't know at that time Jack was the man with her."
"You don't know it now. You don't know she was there. In point of fact the idea is ridiculous. You surely don't think for a moment that she had anything to do with Uncle James's death."
"No; not in the sense that she helped bring it about. But she knows somethin' she's hidin'."
"That's absurd. Your imagination is too active, Kirby."
"Can't agree with you." Lane met him eye to eye.
"Grant for the sake of argument that she was in Uncle's room that night. Your friend Miss Rose McLean was there, too—by her own confession. When she came to Jack and me with her story, we respected it. We did not insist on knowing why she was there, and it was of her own free will she told us. Yet you go to our friend and distress her by implications that must shock and wound her. Was that generous? Was it even fair?"
The cattleman stood convicted at the bar of his own judgment. His cousins had been magnanimous to Esther and Rose, more so than he had been to Miss Harriman. Yet, even while he confessed fault, he felt uneasily that there was a justification he could not quite lay hold of and put into words.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, James. Perhaps I was wrong. But you want to remember that I wasn't askin' about what she knew with any idea of makin' it public or tellin' the police. I meant to keep it under my own hat to help run down a cold-blooded murderer."
"You can't want to run him down any more than we do—and in that 'we' I include Jack and Miss Harriman as well as myself," the older man answered gravely. "But I'm sure you're entirely wrong. Miss Harriman knows nothing about it. If she had she would have confided in us."
"Perhaps she has confided in Jack."
"Don't you think that obsession of yours is rather—well, unlikely, to put it mildly? Analyze it and you'll find you haven't a single substantial fact to base it on."
This was true. Yet Kirby's opinion was not changed. He still believed that Jack and Miss Harriman had been in his uncle's rooms just before Wild Rose had been there.
He returned to the subject of the bond. It seemed to him best, he said, in view of Jack's feeling, to get other bondsmen. He hoped James would not interpret this to mean that he felt less friendly toward him.
His cousin bowed, rather formally. "Just as you please. Would you like the matter arranged this afternoon?"
Lane looked at his watch. "I haven't heard from my new bondsmen yet.Besides, I want to go to Golden. Would to-morrow morning suit you?"
"I dare say." James stifled a yawn. "Did you say you were going toGolden?"
"Yes. Some one gave me a tip. I don't know what there's in it, but I thought I'd have a look at the marriage-license registry."
Cunningham flashed a startled glance at him that asked a peremptory question. "Probably waste of time. I've been in the oil business too long to pay any attention to tips."
"Expect you're right, but I'll trot out there, anyhow. Never can tell."
"What do you expect to find among the marriage licenses?"
"Haven't the slightest idea. I'll tell you tomorrow what I do find."
James made one dry, ironic comment. "I rather think you have too much imagination for sleuthing. You let your wild fancies gallop away with you. If I were you I'd go back to bronco busting."
Kirby laughed. "Dare say you're right. I'll take your advice after we get the man we're after."
By appointment Kirby met Rose at Graham & Osborne's for luncheon. She was waiting in the tower room for him.
"Where's Esther?" he asked.
Rose mustered a faint smile. "She's eating lunch with a handsomer man."
"You can't throw a stone up Sixteenth Street without hittin' one," he answered gayly.
They followed the head waitress to a small table for two by a window. Rose walked with the buoyant rhythm of perfect health. Her friend noticed, as he had often done before, that she had the grace of movement which is a corollary to muscles under perfect response. Seated across the table from her, he marveled once more at the miracle of her soft skin and the peach bloom of her complexion. Many times she had known the sting of sleet and the splash of sun on her face. Yet incredibly her cheeks did not tan nor lose their fineness.
"You haven't told me who this handsomer man is," Kirby suggested.
"Cole Sanborn." She flushed a little, but looked straight at him."Have you told him—about Esther?"
"No. But from somethin' he said I think he guesses."
Her eyes softened. "He's awf'ly good to Esther. I can see he likes her and she likes him. Why couldn't she have met him first? She's so lovable." Tears brimmed to her eyes. "That's been her ruin. She was ready to believe any man who said he cared for her. Even when she was a little bit of a trick when people liked her, she was grateful to them for it and kinda snuggled up to them. I never saw a more cuddly baby."
"Have you found out anything more yet about—the man?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.
"No. It's queer how stubborn she can be for all her softness. But she almost told me last night. I'll find out in a day or two now. Of course it was your uncle. The note I found was really an admission of guilt. Your cousins feel that some settlement ought to be made on Esther out of the estate. I've been trying to decide what would be fair. Will you think it over and let me know what seems right to you?"
The waitress came, took their order, and departed.
"I'm goin' out to Golden to-day on a queer wild-goose chase," Kirby said. "A man gave me a hint. He didn't want to tell me the information out an' out, whatever it is. I don't know why. What he said was for me to go to Golden an' look over the list of marriage licenses for the past month or two."
Her eyes flashed an eager question at him. "You don't suppose—it couldn't be that Esther was married to your uncle secretly and that she promised not to tell."
"I hadn't thought of that. It might be." His eyes narrowed in concentration. "And if Jack an' Miss Harriman had just found it out, that would explain why they called on Uncle James the night he was killed. Do you want to go to Golden with me?"
She nodded, eagerly. "Oh, I do, Kirby! I believe we'll find out something there. Shall we go by the interurban?"
"As soon as we're through lunch."
They walked across along Arapahoe Street to the loop and took a Golden car. It carried them by the viaduct over the Platte River and through the North Side into the country. They rushed past truck farms and apple orchards into the rolling fields beyond, where the crops had been harvested and the land lay in the mellow bath of a summer sun. They swung round Table Mountain into the little town huddled at the foot of Lookout.
From the terminus of the line they walked up the steep hill to the court-house. An automobile, new and of an expensive make, was standing by the curb. Just as Kirby and Rose reached the machine a young man ran down the steps of the court-house and stepped into the car. The man was Jack Cunningham. He took the driver's seat. Beside him was a veiled young woman in a leather motoring-coat. In spite of the veil Lane recognized her as Phyllis Harriman.
Cunningham caught sight of his cousin and anger flushed his face. Without a word he reached for the starter, threw in the clutch, and gave the engine gas.
The rough rider watched the car move down the hill. "I've made a mistake," he told his companion. "I told James I was comin' here to-day. He let Jack know, an' he's beat us to it."
"What harm will that do?" asked Rose. "The information will be there for us, too, won't it?"
"Mebbe it will. Mebbe it won't. We'll soon find out."
Rose caught her friend's arm as they were passing through the hall. "Kirby, do you suppose your cousins really know Esther was married to your uncle? Do you think they can be trying to keep it quiet so she can't claim the estate?"
He stopped in his stride. James had deprecated the idea of his coming to Golden and had ridiculed the possibility of his unearthing any information of value. Yet he must have called up Jack as soon as he had left the office. And Jack had hurried to the town within the hour. It might be that. Rose had hit on the reason for the hostility he felt on the part of both cousins to his activities. There was something they did not want brought to the light of day. What more potent reason could there be for concealment than their desire to keep the fortune of the millionaire in their own hands?
"I shouldn't wonder if you haven't rung the bull's-eye, pardner," he told her. "We ought to know right soon now."
The clerk in the recorder's office smiled when Kirby said he wanted to look through the license register. He swung the book round toward them.
"Help yourself. What's the big idea? Another young fellow was in lookin' at the licenses only a minute ago."
The clerk moved over to another desk where he was typewriting. His back was turned toward them. Kirby turned the pages of the book. He and Rose looked them over together. They covered the record for three months without finding anything of interest. Patiently they went over the leaves again.
Kirby stepped over to the clerk. "Do you happen to remember whether you made out any license application for a man named Cunningham any time in the past two months?" he asked.
"For a marriage license?"
"Yes."
"Don't think I have. Can't remember the name. I was on my vacation two weeks. Maybe it was then. Can't you find it in the book?"
"No."
"Know the date?"
Kirby shook his head.
The voice of Rose, high with excitement, came from across the room."Looky here."
Her finger ran down the book, close to the binding. A page had been cut out with a sharp penknife, so deftly that they had passed it twice without noticing.
"Who did that?" demanded the clerk angrily.
"Probably the young man who was just in here. His name is JackCunningham," Lane answered.
"What in time did he want to do that for? If he wanted it why didn't he take a copy? The boss'll give me Hail Columbia. That's what a fellow gets for being accommodating."
"He did it so that we wouldn't see it. Is there any other record kept of the marriages?"
"Sure there is. The preachers and the judges who perform marriages have to turn back to us the certificate within thirty days and we make a record of it."
"Can I see that book?"
"I'll do the lookin'," the clerk said shortly. "Whose marriage is it?And what date?"
Lane gave such information as he could. The clerk mellowed when Rose told him it was very important to her, as officials have a way of doing when charming young women smile at them. But he found no record of any marriage of which they knew either of the contracting parties.
"Once in a while some preacher forgets to turn in his certificate," the clerk said as he closed the book. "Old Rankin is the worst that way. He forgets. You might look him up."
Kirby slipped the clerk a dollar and turned away. Rankin was a forlorn hope, but he and Rose walked out to a little house in the suburbs where the preacher lived.
He was a friendly, white-haired old gentleman, and he made them very much at home under the impression they had come to get married. A slight deafness was in part responsible for this mistake.
"May I see the license?" he asked after Kirby had introduced himself and Rose.
For a moment the cattleman was puzzled. His eye went to Rose, seeking information. A wave of color was sweeping into her soft cheeks. Then Lane knew why, and the hot blood mounted into his own. His gaze hurriedly and in embarrassment fled from Miss McLean's face.
"You don't quite understand," he explained to the Reverend Nicodemus Rankin. "We've come only to—to inquire about some one you married—or rather to find out if you did marry him. His name is Cunningham. We have reason to think he was married a month or two ago. But we're not sure."
The old man stroked his silken white hair. At times his mind was a little hazy. There were moments when a slight fog seemed to descend upon it. His memory in recent years had been quite treacherous. Not long since he had forgotten to attend a funeral at which he was to conduct the services.
"I dare say I did marry your friend. A good many young people come to me. The license clerk at the court is very kind. He sends them here."
"The man's name was Cunningham—James Cunningham," Kirby prompted.
"Cunningham—Cunningham! Seems to me I did marry a man by that name. Come to think of it I'm sure I did. To a beautiful young woman," the old preacher said.
"Do you recall her name? I mean her maiden name," Rose said, excitement drumming in her veins.
"No-o. I don't seem quite to remember it. But she was a charming young woman—very attractive, I might say. My wife and daughter mentioned it afterward."
"May I ask if Mrs. Rankin and your daughter are at present in the house?" asked Lane.
"Unfortunately, no. They have gone to spend a few days visiting in Idaho Springs. If they were here they could reënforce any gaps in my memory, which is not all it once was." The Reverend Nicodemus smiled apologetically.
"Was her name Esther McLean?" asked Rose eagerly.
The old parson brought his mind back to the subject with a visible effort. "Oh, yes! The young lady who was married to your friend—" He paused, at a loss for the name.
"—Cunningham," Kirby supplied.
"Quite so—Cunningham. Well, it might have been McLeod. I—I rather think it did sound like that."
"McLean. Miss Esther McLean," corrected the cattleman patiently.
"The fact is I'm not sure about the young lady's name. Mother and Ellen would know. I'm sorry they're not here. They talked afterward about how pleasant the young lady was."
"Was she fair or dark?"
The old preacher smiled at Rose benevolently. "I really don't know.I'm afraid, my dear young woman, that I'm a very unreliable witness."
"You don't recollect any details. For instance, how did they come and did they bring witnesses with them?"
"Yes. I was working in the garden—weeding the strawberry-patch, I think. They came in an automobile alone. Wife and daughter were the witnesses."
"Do you know when Mrs. Rankin and your daughter will be home?"
"By next Tuesday, at the latest. Perhaps you can call again. I trust there was nothing irregular about the marriage."
"Not so far as we know. We were anxious about the young lady. She is a friend of ours," Kirby said. "By the way, the certificate of the marriage is not on record at the court-house. Are you sure you returned it to the clerk?"
"Bless my soul, did I forget that again?" exclaimed the Reverend Nicodemus. "I'll have my daughter look for the paper as soon as she returns."
"You couldn't find it now, I suppose," Lane suggested.
The old gentleman searched rather helplessly among the papers overflowing his desk. He did not succeed in finding what he looked for.
Kirby and Rose walked back to the court-house. They had omitted to arrange with the license clerk to forward a copy of the marriage certificate when it was filed.
The rough rider left the required fee with the clerk and a bank note to keep his memory jogged up.
"Soon as Mrs. Rankin comes home, will you call her up and remind her about lookin' for the certificate?" he asked.
"Sure I will. I've got to have it, anyhow, for the records. And say, what's the name of that fresh guy who came in here and cut the page from the register? I'm going after him right, believe you me."
Kirby gave his cousin's name and address. He had no animosity whatever toward him, but he thought it just as well to keep Jack's mind occupied with troubles of his own during the next few days. Very likely then he would not get in his way so much.
They were no sooner clear of the court-house than Rose burst out with what was in her mind.
"It's just as I thought. Your uncle married Esther and got her to keep quiet about the marriage for some reason. Your cousins are trying to destroy the evidence so that the estate won't all go to her. I'll bet we get an offer of a compromise right away."
"Mebbe." Kirby's mind was not quite satisfied. Somehow, this affair did not seem to fit in with what he knew of his uncle. Cunningham had been always bold and audacious in his actions, a law to himself. Yet if he were going to marry the stenographer he had wronged, he might do it secretly to conceal the date on account of the unborn child.
The eyes of Rose gleamed with determination. Her jaw set. "I'm gonna get the whole story out of Esther soon as I get back to town," she said doggedly.
But she did not—nor for many days after.
Kirby heard his name being paged as he entered his hotel.
"Wanted at the telephone, sir," the bell-hop told him.
He stepped into a booth and the voice of Rose came excited and tremulous. It was less than ten minutes since he had left her at the door of her boarding-house.
"Something's happened, Kirby. Can you come here—right away?" she begged. Then, unable to keep back any longer the cry of her heart, she broke out with her tidings. "Esther's gone."
"Gone where?" he asked.
"I don't know. She left a letter for me. If you'll come to the house—Or shall I meet you downtown?"
"I'll come. Be there in five minutes."
He more than kept his word. Catching a car on the run at the nearest corner, he dropped from it as it crossed Broadway and walked to Cherokee.
Rose opened the house door when he rang the bell and drew him into the parlor. With a catch of the breath she blurted out again the news.
"She was gone when I got home. I found—this letter." Her eyes sought his for comfort. He read what Esther had written.
I can't stand it any longer, dearest. I'm going away where I won't disgrace you. Don't look for me. I'll be taken care of till—afterward.
And, oh, Rose, don't hate me, darling. Even if I am wicked, love me.And try some time to forgive your little sister.
"Did anybody see her go?" Lane asked.
"I don't know. I haven't talked with anybody but the landlady. She hasn't seen Esther this afternoon, she said. I didn't let on I was worried."
"What does she mean that she'll be taken care of till afterward?Who'll take care of her?"
"I don't know."
"Have you any idea where she would be likely to go—whether there is any friend who might have offered her a temporary home?"
"No." Rose considered. "She wouldn't go to any old friend. You see she's—awf'ly sensitive. And she'd have to explain. Besides, I'd find out she was there."
"That's true."
"I ought never to have left her last spring. I should have found work here and not gone gallumpin' all over the country." Her chin trembled. She was on the verge of tears.
"Nonsense. You can't blame yourself. We each have to live our own life. How could you tell what was comin'? Betcha we find her right away. Mebbe she let out somethin' to Cole. She doesn't look to me like a girl who could play out a stiff hand alone."
"She isn't. She's dependent—always has leaned on some one." Rose had regained control of herself quickly. She stood straight and lissom, mistress of her emotions, but her clear cheeks were colorless. "I'm worried, Kirby, dreadfully. Esther hasn't the pluck to go through alone. She—she might—"
No need to finish the sentence. Her friend understood.
His strong hand went out and closed on hers. "Don't you worry, pardner. It'll be all right. We'll find her an' take her somewhere into the country where folks don't know."
Faintly she smiled. "You're such a comfort."
"Sho! We'll get busy right away. Denver ain't such a big town that we can't find one li'l' girlmuy pronto." His voice was steady and cheerful, almost light. "First off, we'll check up an' see if any one saw her go. What did she take with her?"
"One suitcase."
"How much money? Can you make a guess?"
"She had only a dollar or two in her purse. She had money in the bank.I'll find out if she drew any."
"Lemme do that. I'll find Cole, too. You make some inquiries round the house here, kinda easy-like. Meet you here at six o'clock. Or mebbe we'd better meet downtown. Say at the Boston Chop House."
Cole was with Kirby when he met Rose at the restaurant.
"We'll go in an' get somethin' to eat," Lane said. "We'll talk while we're waitin'. That way we'll not lose any time."
They found a booth and Kirby ordered the dinner. As soon as the waiter had gone he talked business.
"Find out anything, Rose?"
"Yes. A girl at the house who works for the telephone company saw Esther get into an automobile a block and a half from the house. A man helped her in. I pretended to laugh and asked her what sort of a lookin' man he was. She said he was a live one, well-dressed and handsome. The car was a limousine."
"Good. Fits in with what I found out," Kirby said. "The bank was closed, but I got in the back door by pounding at it. The teller at the K-R window was still there, working at his accounts. Esther did not draw any money to-day or yesterday."
"Why do you say good?" Cole wanted to know. "Is it good for our li'l' friend to be in the power of this good-lookin' guy with the big car, an' her without a bean of her own? I don't get it. Who is the man? Howcome she to go with him? She sure had no notion of goin' when we was eatin' together an hour before."
"I don't see who he could be. She never spoke of such a man to me,"Rose murmured, greatly troubled.
"I don't reckon she was very well acquainted with him," Lane said, shaking out his napkin.
The talk was suspended while he ladled the soup into the plates and the waiter served them. Not till the man's back was turned did Rose fling out her hot challenge to Kirby.
"Why would she go with a man she didn't know very well? Where would she be going with him?" The flame in her cheeks, the stab of her eyes, dared him to think lightly of her sister. It was in her temperament to face all slights with high spirit.
His smile reassured. "Mebbe she didn't know where she was goin'. That was his business. Let's work this out from the beginnin'."
Kirby passed Rose the crackers. She rejected them with a little gesture of impatience.
"I don't want to eat. I'm not hungry."
Lane's kind eyes met hers steadily. "But you must eat. You'll be of no help if you don't keep up your strength."
Rather than fight it out, she gave up.
"We know right off the reel Esther didn't plan this," he continued. "Before we knew the man was in it you felt it wasn't like her to run away alone, Rose. Didn't you?"
"Yes."
"She hadn't drawn any money from her account, So she wasn't makin' any plans to go. The man worked it out an' then persuaded Esther. It's no surprise to me to find a Mr. Man in this thing. I'd begun to guess it before you told me. The question is, what man."
The girl's eyes jumped to his. She began to see what he was working toward. Cole, entirely in the dark, stirred uneasily. His mind was still busy with a possible love tangle.
"What man or men would benefit most if Esther disappeared for a time?We know of two it might help," the man from Twin Buttes went on.
"Your cousins!" she cried, almost in a whisper.
"Yes, if we've guessed rightly that Esther was married to Uncle James. That would make her his heir. With her in their hands and away from us, they would be in a position to drive a better bargain. They know that we're hot on the trail of the marriage. If they're kind to her—and no doubt they will be—they can get anything they want from her in the way of an agreement as to the property. Looks to me like the fine Italian hand of Cousin James. We know Jack wasn't the man. He was busy at Golden right then. Kinda leaves James in the spotlight, doesn't it?"
Rose drew a long, deep breath. "I'm so glad! I was afraid—thought maybe she would do something desperate. But if she's being looked after it's a lot better. We'll soon have her back. Until then they'll be good to her, won't they?"
"They'll treat her like a queen. Don't you see? That's their game.They don't want a lawsuit. They're playin' for a compromise."
Kirby leaned back and smiled expansively on his audience of two. He began to fancy himself tremendously as a detective.
Kirby's efforts to find James Cunningham after dinner were not successful. He was not at his rooms, at the Country Club, or at his office. Nor was he at a dinner dance where he was among the invited guests, a bit of information Rose had gathered from the society columns of the previous Sunday's "News." His cousin reached him at last next morning by means of his business telephone. An appointment was arranged in five sentences.
If James felt any surprise at the delegation of three which filed in to see him he gave no sign of it. He bowed, sent for more chairs from the outer office, and seated his visitors, all with a dry, close smile hovering on the edge of irony.
Kirby cut short preliminaries. "You know why we're here and what we want," he said abruptly.
"I confess I don't, unless to report on your trip to Golden," James countered suavely. "Was it successful, may I ask?"
"If it wasn't, you know why it wasn't."
The eyes of the two men met. Neither of them dodged in the least or gave to the rigor of the other's gaze.
"Referring to Jack's expedition, I presume."
"You don't deny it, then."
"My dear Kirby, I never waste breath in useless denials. You saw Jack.Therefore he must have been there."
"He was. He brought away with him a page cut from the marriage-license registry."
James lifted a hand of protest. "Ah! There we come to the parting of the ways. I can't concede that."
"No, but you know it's true," said Kirby bluntly.
"Not at all. He surely would not mutilate a public record."
"We needn't go into that. He did. But that didn't keep us from getting the information we wanted."
"No?" James murmured the monosyllable with polite indifference. But he watched, lynx-eyed, the strong, brown face of his cousin.
"We know now the secret you wanted to keep hidden in the court-house atGolden."
"I grant you energy in ferreting out other people's business, dear cousin. If you 're always so—so altruistic, let us say—I wonder how you have time to devote to your own affairs."
"We intend to see justice done Miss Esther McLean—Mrs. JamesCunningham, I should say. You can't move us from that intention or—"
The expression on the oil broker's face was either astonishment or the best counterfeit of it Kirby had ever seen.
"I beg pardon.Whatdid you say?"
"I told you, what you already know, that Esther McLean was married toUncle James at Golden on the twenty-first of last month."
"Miss McLean and Uncle James married—at Golden—on the twenty-first of last month? Are you sure?"
"Aren't you? What did you think we found out?"
Cunningham's eyes narrowed. A film of caution spread over them. "Oh, I don't know. You're so enterprising you might discover almost anything. It's really a pity with your imagination that you don't go into fiction."
"Or oil promotin'," suggested Cole with a grin. "Or is that the same thing?"
"Let's table our cards, James," his cousin said. "You know now why we're here."
"On the contrary, I'm more in the dark than ever."
Kirby was never given to useless movements of his limbs or body. He had the gift of repose, of wonderful poise. Now not even his eyelashes flickered.
"We want to know what you've done with Esther McLean."
"But, my dear fellow, why should I do anything with her?"
"You know why as well as I do. Somehow you've persuaded her to go somewhere and hide herself. You want her in your power, to force or cajole her into a compromise of her right to Uncle James's estate. We won't have it."
A satiric smile touched the face of Cunningham without warming it, "That active imagination of yours again. Youdolet it run away with you."
"You were seen getting into a car with Miss McLean."
"Did she step in of her own free will?"
"We don't claim an abduction."
"On your own statement of the case, then, you have no ground of complaint whatever."
"Do you refuse to tell us where she is?" Kirby asked.
"I refuse to admit that I know where the young lady is."
"We'll find her. Don't make any mistake about that."
Kirby rose. The interview was at an end. Cole Sanborn strode forward. He leaned over the desk toward the oil broker, his blue eyes drilling into those of the broker.
"We sure will, an' if you've hurt our li'l' friend—if she's got any grievance against you an' the way you treat her—I'll certainly wreck you proper, Mr. Cunningham."
James flushed angrily. "Get out of here—all of you! Or I'll send for the police and have you swept out. I'm fed up on your interference."
"Is it interference for Miss McLean here to want to know where her sister is?" asked Kirby quietly.
"Why should you all assume I know?"
"Because the evidence points to you."
"Absurd. You come down here from Wyoming and do nothing but make trouble for me and Jack even though we try to stand your friend. I've had about enough of you."
"Sorry you look at it that way." Kirby's smile was friendly. It was even wistful. "I appreciate what you did for me, but I've got to go through with what I've started. I can't quit on the job because I'm under an obligation to you. By the way, I've arranged the matter of the bond. We're to take it up at the district attorney's office at eleven this morning."
"Glad to hear it. I want to be quit of you," snapped Cunningham tartly.
Outside, Kirby gave directions to his lieutenants. "It's up to you two to dig up some facts. I'm gonna be busy all mornin' with this bond business so's I can keep outa jail. Rose, you go up to the Secretary of State's office and find the number of the license of my cousin's car and the kind of machine it is. Then you'd better come back an' take a look at all the cars parked within three or four blocks of here. He may have driven it down when he came to work this mornin'. Look at the speedometer an' see what the mileage record is of the last trip taken. Cole, you go to this address. That's where my cousin lives. Find out at what garage he keeps his car. If they don't know, go to all the garages within several blocks of the place. See if it's a closed car. Get the make an' the number an' the last trip mileage. Meet me here at twelve o'clock, say. Both of you."
"Suits me," said Cole. "But wise me up. What's the idea in the mileage?"
"Just this. James was outa town last night probably. We couldn't find him anywhere. My notion is that he's taken Esther somewhere into the mountains. If we can get the mileage of the last trip, all we have to do is to divide it by two to know how far away Esther is. Then we'll draw a circle round Denver at that distance an'—"
Cole slapped his thigh with his hat. "Bully! You're sure the white-haired lad in this deteckative game."
"Maybe he didn't set the speedometer for the trip," suggested Rose.
"Possible. Then again more likely he did. James is a methodical chap. Another thing, while you're at the private hotel where he lives, Cole. Find out if you can where James goes when he fishes or drives into the mountains. Perhaps he's got a cottage of his own or some favorite spot."
"I'm on my way, old-timer!" Cole announced with enthusiasm.
At luncheon the committee reported progress. Cole had seen JamesCunningham's car. It was a sedan. He had had it out of the garage allafternoon and evening and had brought it back just before midnight.The trip record on the speedometer registered ninety-two miles.
From his pocket Kirby drew an automobile map and a pencil. He notched on the pencil a mark to represent forty-six miles from the point, based on the scale of miles shown at the foot of the map. With the pencil as a radius he drew a semicircle from Denver as the center. The curved line passed through Loveland, Long's Peak, and across the Snow Range to Tabernash. It included Georgetown, Gray's Peak, Mount Evans, and Cassell's. From there it swept on to Palmer Lake.
"I'm not includin' the plains country to the east," Kirby explained. "You'll have enough territory to cover as it is, Cole. By the way, did you find anything about where James goes into the hills?"
"No."
"Well, we'll make some more inquiries. Perhaps the best thing for you to do would be to go out to the small towns around Denver an' find out if any of the garage people noticed a car of that description passin' through. That would help a lot. It would give us a line on whether he went up Bear Cañon, Platte Cañon, into Northern Colorado, or south toward the Palmer Lake country."
"You've allowed forty-six miles by an air line," Rose pointed out. "He couldn't have gone as far as Long's Peak or Evans—nowhere nearly as far, because the roads are so winding when you get in the hills. He could hardly have reached Estes Park."
"Right. You'll have to check up the road distances from Denver, Cole. Your job's like lookin' for a needle in a haystack. I'll put a detective agency on James. He might take a notion to run out to the cache any fine evenin'. He likely will, to make sure Esther is contented."
"Or he'll send Jack," Rose added.
"We'll try to keep an eye on him, too."
"This is my job, is it?" Cole asked, rising.