“Yes—go on—quick. We might be interrupted.”
“Under mountain of white shirts in Thorn’s bureau reposes—what? Missing forty-five we call Bill Hart’s gun.”
“Good work! Thorn—the little rat—”
“Undubitably. Two chambers of that gun are quite unoccupied. Reflect on that.”
“I’m reflecting. Two empty chambers.”
“Humbly suggest you sleep now, gathering strength for what may be most excited tomorrow.” The little detective paused at the door. “Two bullets gone who knows where,” he said, in a low voice. “Answer is, we know where one went. Went crazy, landing in wall at spot now covered by desert picture.”
“And the other?” said Bob Eden thoughtfully.
“Other hit mark, I think. What mark? We watch and wait, and maybe we discover. Good night, with plenty happy dreams.”
