who was the third man?”
“The third man?” Eden repeated.
“Precisely. Ignore the prospector—who was at the ranch? Madden and Thorn—yes. And one other. A man who, seeing his life in danger, called loudly for help. A man who, a moment later, lay on the floor beyond the bed, and whose shoes alone were visible from where the prospector stood. Who was he? Where did he come from? When did he arrive? What was his business? Why was Madden afraid of him? These are the questions to which we must now seek answers. Am I right, Sergeant Chan?”
“Undubitably,” Charlie replied. “And how shall we find those answers? By searching, perhaps. Humbly suggest we search.”
“Every nook and corner of this ranch,” agreed Holley. “We’ll begin with Madden’s desk. Some stray bit of correspondence may throw unexpected light. It’s locked, of course. But I’ve brought along a pocketful of old keys—got them from a locksmith in town.”
“You act like number one detective,” Chan remarked.
“Thanks,” answered Holley. He went over to the big flat-topped desk belonging to the millionaire and began to experiment with various keys. In a few moments he found the proper one and all the drawers stood open.
“Splendid work,” said Chan.
“Not much here, though,” Holley declared. He removed the papers from the top left-hand drawer and laid them on the blotting pad. Bob Eden lighted a cigarette and strolled away. Somehow this idea of inspecting Madden’s mail did not appeal to him.
