"I thank you," said Mr. Byrd; "I didn't know I was so chilled," and he, too, enjoyed the warmth. "And, now," he pursued, after a moment, "go on; let us have the thing out at once."
But the other was in no hurry. "Very good, sir," he cried; "but, first, if you don't mind, suppose you tell me what brought you to this hut to-day?"
"I was on the look-out for clues. In my study of the situation, I decided that the murderer of Mrs. Clemmens escaped, not from the front, but from the back, of the house. Taking the path I imagined him to have trod, I came upon this hut. It naturally attracted my attention, and to-day I came back to examine it more closely in the hope of picking up some signs of his having been here, or at least of having passed through the glade on his way to the deeper woods."
"And what, if you had succeeded in this, sir? What, if some token of his presence had rewarded your search?"
"I should have completed a chain of proof of which only this one link is lacking. I could have shown how Craik Mansell fled from this place on last Tuesday afternoon, making his way through the woods to the highway, and thence to the Quarry Station at Monteith, where he took the train which carried him back to Buffalo."
"You could!—show me how?"
Mr. Byrd explained himself more definitely.
Hickory at once rose.
"I guess we can give you the link," he dryly remarked. "At all events, suppose you just step here and tell me what conclusion you draw from the appearance of this pile of brush."
Mr. Byrd advanced and looked at a small heap of hemlock that lay in a compact mass in one corner.