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Tangled Trails: A Western Detective Story, a novel by William MacLeod Raine |
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Chapter 26. Cutting Trail |
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_ CHAPTER XXVI. CUTTING TRAIL 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 at Golden." "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. James Cunningham, 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. _What_ did you say?" "I told you, what you already know, that Esther McLean was married to Uncle 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. You _do_ let 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 James Cunningham's car. It was a sedan. He had had it out of the garage all afternoon 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 Canon, Platte Canon, 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. "You an' Rose can work together on it. My job's here in town on the murder mystery." "If we work both of them out---finding Esther and proving who killed your uncle--I think we'll learn that it's all the same mystery, anyhow," Rose said, drawing on her gloves. Cole nodded sagely. "You've said somethin', Rose." "Say _when_, not _if_, we work 'em out. We'll be cuttin' hot trail _poco tempo_," Kirby prophesied, smiling up at them. _ |
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