Part 3 (1/2)
”Apple pie, lemon pie, maple cake, berry roll.”
He looked up into two gentian-blue eyes.
”Lemon pie, please,” he said, blus.h.i.+ng.
When dinner was over and the bare little dining room empty except for Clinch and the two State Troopers, the former folded his heavy, powerful hands on the table's edge and turned his square face and pale-eyed gaze on Lannis.
”Spit it out,” he said in a pa.s.sionless voice.
Lannis crossed one knee over the other, lighted a cigarette:
”Is there a young fellow working for you named Hal Smith?”
”No,” said Clinch.
”Sure?”
”Sure.”
”Clinch,” continued Lannis, ”have you heard about a stick-up on the wood-road out of Ghost Lake?”
”No.”
”Well, a wealthy tourist from New York--a Mr. Sard, stopping at Ghost Lake Inn--was held up and robbed last Sat.u.r.day toward sundown.”
”Never heard of him,” said Clinch, calmly.
”The robber took four thousand dollars in bills and some private papers from him.”
”It's no skin off my s.h.i.+ns,” remarked Clinch.
”He's laid a complaint.”
”Yes?”
”Have any strangers been here since Sat.u.r.day evening?”
”No.”
There was a pause.
”We heard you had a new man named Hal Smith working around your place.”
”No.”
”He came here Sat.u.r.day night.”
”Who says so?”