Part 2 (1/2)
”Impossible! Absolutely impossible!” protested Sam. ”What's the good of supposing any such thing? The money was found in Charlie's box, and if he denied his guilt until he was blue in the face, I wouldn't believe him.”
”So?” reflected Silk. ”Well, just as a matter of form, I'll have a look round in the harness-room, before going on. Give my respects to Miss Dora.”
Percy Rapson accompanied him to the now open doorway of the little room.
On the threshold Silk paused, examined the blurred footmarks on the moist earthen floor, glanced at the ventilation hole high up in the wall just below the rafters, then shook his head.
”I'm afraid Sam is right,” he muttered as he turned away. ”Unless----”
He touched Percy's elbow. ”Come round to the back of this shanty,” he said.
Percy watched him searching along the ground and saw him stand still, looking down at some curious marks on a bare patch of wet soil.
”Do you see? Do you understand?” Silk asked in an eager voice. ”Some chap has been crawling round here on all fours. See the round marks of his knees--the sharp grooves made by the toes of his boots, and--and the impressions of his hands?”
”My hat!” cried Percy. ”Why, the left hand has only three fingers!”
”Seems we're on his trail,” smiled the sergeant. ”D'you see that dirty old packing-case? Just lift it and put it against the wall. So, that's right. Now stand on it and see if you can reach up to where you see that loose slate. Ah!” he exclaimed as Percy obeyed him, ”I see you're not tall enough. And neither is Charlie Fortescue. Let me show you.”
He took Percy's place on the box, and, standing on his toes, reached to the slate, moved it, and thrust his hand in at the opening.
”Say, there wasn't any need for Sam Crisp to lock the door when his bag of gold could be reached from the outside,” he declared. ”The man who took it has left his mark on the wall, see, with his muddy hand. It doesn't matter to us how he found out that the money was there. He has stolen it and carried it off. And I guess I know where we shall find him. Come along! Let's hustle!”
Late in the afternoon of that same day Sergeant Silk and Percy Rapson rode into a logging camp among the mountains and put up their horses for the night. Work for the day was not yet over, and Percy was glad of the opportunity of watching the lumber-men who were busily felling and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the immense trees, and hauling the great logs along the skidways.
The forest glades were filled with the shrieking of steam saws, the panting of donkey-engines, and the thudding blows of axe and adze.
Percy was fascinated by the unfamiliar sight of a gigantic log coming jerkily up a steep incline, b.u.t.ting at boulders, colliding with trees, ploughing deep furrows in the earth and smas.h.i.+ng and cras.h.i.+ng through the thicket.
”Keep clear of that cable, mister,” one of the men warned him. ”It might break. You see, when it's hauling a ten-ton log at full steam, and the log fouls a rock, something's sure to give, and it's usually the cable.
It wouldn't be nice for you to be hit by one of the flying ends.”
Percy did not look round at the man; neither did he stand back, and the warning had hardly been repeated when there came an ominous, jarring, crunching noise, followed by a sound that was like the firing of a great gun. Something resembling a coiled snake whistled through the air towards him, and in the same instant he was seized from behind and flung bodily backward.
When he rose to his feet, unhurt, he saw what had happened. The man who had saved him--a tall, red-bearded man--had been struck on the back of the head by a flying end of the broken cable. Sergeant Silk was kneeling at his side. Percy saw him take hold of the dead man's left hand and noticed that the hand had no forefinger.
”It's d.i.c.k Ashton,” murmured one of the men who had gathered round.
”Poor d.i.c.k, he's done for, sure. And him only just come in for a fortune. Went to draw it from the bank only yesterday. Wonder if he got it, eh? He seemed some satisfied with himself when he rode into camp this morning, hatless and covered with mud.”
Sergeant Silk unb.u.t.toned d.i.c.k's vest and there fell out a chamois leather bag, which sent forth the unmistakable jingle of coins. As the sergeant took possession of it, he glanced upward at Percy Rapson.
”I think we have proved that Charlie Fortescue is innocent,” he said.
”Don't you?”
”Yes,” Percy nodded. ”But I wouldn't tell any of d.i.c.k's chums, here, anything about it, eh? You'll keep it quiet, won't you?”
”Why, cert'nly!” agreed Silk.