“No, he disappeared in the bush as silently and completely as a timber wolf.” The inspector bent his eyes searchingly on Gildersleeve. “He was playing the other rôle this time.”
“The other rôle?” The puzzled look on Gildersleeve’s face looked almost genuine to the police officer.
“Yes, that of Ogima Bush, the Medicine Man—the same disguise he wore the morning he and his gang abducted Miss Stone.”
“That’s all wrong—all pure piffle!” exploded Gildersleeve.
“Why do you say that?” Quietly.
“Because—because, damn it, man, that camp preacher could never have played the role of the Medicine Man.”
“They are one and the same man.”
“They are not, I tell you!”
The police inspector leaned forward, his eyes fixing those of the financier like steely points of light. “If you can furnish proof of that statement, Mr. Gildersleeve,” he said at last, “it would be very useful information for the police.”
Gildersleeve tightened up in a hurry. “Oh, I have nothing in the way of proof,” he laughed easily. “It was merely a conviction.”