"I don't think you quite realize, Griffin," Saunders' voice had quite an uneasy tremor in it, as he spoke, "that you are in some danger."
The detective was sitting in Mark's bedroom, and the clock was striking midnight in the hotel office below. They had returned together from the bluff road and had been discussing the tragedy ever since.
"I think I do," Mark answered, "but I don't very much care."
"Then," said Saunders, "you English have some nerves!"
"You forget, Saunders, that I am not quite English. I am half Irish, and the Irish have 'some nerves.' But I am really hit very hard. I suppose it's the English in me that won't let me show it."
Saunders did not answer for a moment. Then he took his cigar out of his mouth.
"Nerves?" he repeated half laughingly. "Yes, nerves they have, but in the singular number."
"Beg pardon?"
"Oh, I forgot that your education in United States has been sadly neglected. I mean to say that they have nerve, not nerves."
"By which you mean--?"
"Something that you will need very soon--grit."
"I--I don't quite understand yet, my dear fellow. Why?"
The face of Saunders was serious now. The danger that confronted both of them was no chimera.
"Look here, Griffin," he broke out, "that murderer did this thing under orders. He either has had a story fixed up for him by his employers, or he will try to put the deed off on someone else. An explanation must be given when the body is discovered in the morning. All was certainly foreseen, for these chaps take no chances. Now, you may wager a lot that his superiors, or their representatives, are not far away; no farther, in fact, than the railroad camp. You may be sure, too, that their own secret service men are on the job, close by. The question is, what story will this fellow tell?"
"You can--ah--search me, Saunders," retorted Mark.
Saunders laughed. Mark had a way of appearing cheerful.
"Come now, that's doing fine. 'Search you,' eh? That is just exactly what the police probably will do."
"Why?"
"Why? Because your being there was the unforeseen part of the whole tragedy. I think it quite upset their calculations. Your hand is marked with powder from the gun fire. Everyone will see that to-morrow. The principal will know something of it from the murderer. In fact, he probably knows now. To-morrow they will be searching for the man with the powder mark. The murderer himself can swear that he saw someone fire at the man who was killed. He may charge robbery. Only when the body is found shall we know what he is going to do. If they have taken his money, it means that you are going to be arrested, for they intend putting it on you. Unless I am mistaken, his pockets are inside out right now. The powder marks alone are enough to fasten suspicion on you. Then, you were absent all day, and someone certainly must have seen you on the bluff road. Above all, you love Ruth Atheson, and lovers have been known to kill rivals. My detective intuition tells me, Griffin, that you stand a good chance of being charged with murder."