"And you think this was such a case?" asked Kennedy, with just a trace of a challenge in his tone.
"Certainly," replied the Coroner. "Certainly. We know that a blow was struck—in all probability hard enough to affect the solar plexus."
It was evident, in his mind at least, that young Ferris was guilty and Kennedy rose to go, refraining from antagonizing him by further questions.
We next visited the county court house, which was not far from the doctor's office. There, the sheriff, a young man, met us and seemed willing to talk over the evidence which so far had been unearthed in the case.
In his office was a trunk, a cheap brown affair, in which the body of the unfortunate steward, Benson, had been found.
"Quite likely the trunk had been carried to the spot in a car and thrown off," the sheriff explained. "A couple of boys happened to find it. They told of their find and one of the constables opened the trunk, then called us up here. In the trunk was the body of a man, crouched, the head forced back between the knees."
"I'd like to see Benson's body," remarked Kennedy.
"Very well, I'll go with you," returned the sheriff. "It's at the undertaker's—our only local morgue."
As we walked slowly up the street, the sheriff went on, just to show that country as well as city detectives knew a thing or two. "There are just two things in which this differs from the ordinary barrel or trunk murder you read about."
"What are they?" encouraged Craig.