“It is. His bed is rumpled—but not thrown back or slept in.”
Von Hope, the missing man’s closest friend, suddenly gasped aloud. “But I won’t believe it—not until we make a search!” he cried. “It can’t be true.”
“Believe it or not. Search through the grounds or call through the house. Nealman’s gone just as Florey’s body went last night.”
CHAPTER XVI
We searched through the house, grimly and purposefully; but Nealman, the genial host of Kastle Krags, was neither revealed to our eyes or gave answer to our calls. It was no longer possible to doubt but that it was his voice that had uttered that fearful cry for help.
While the coroner, whose special province is death, led the guests in a detailed search through the grounds, Sheriff Slatterly and I examined the missing man’s room. And here I was to learn the contents of those mysterious telegrams that had reached Nealman after the inquest of the preceding day.
They were lying on his desk, one of them torn in two as if in a fit of anger, the other rumpled from a hundred readings. I read aloud to the sheriff:
BLAIR COMBINE FORCING I. S. AND H. TO BOTTOM. MOVE QUICK IF YOU CAN.