"Maybe so. I'll have to nose around a bit."
There came a knock on the office door.
"Come!" called out the colonel.
His clerk handed him a telegram. Tearing it open the detective read a message from one of his agents in a distant western city: It said:
"Spotty Morgan arrested here to-day. Big diamond cross found on him.
Do you want him?"
"Do I want him?" fairly yelled the colonel. "I should say I did!
Here, get me Blake on the long distance. This is no time for a wire.
I've got to telephone!" And he hurried to a private booth in a back
office, leaving Grafton to himself.
After he had telephoned. Colonel Ashley sat in silence in the booth, musing.
"Now I wonder," he said to himself, "if Grafton is telling me the truth. Almost any one would believe his story—it sounds straight enough—and yet I can't take any chances. I guess I mustn't lose sight of you, Aaron Grafton.
"And perhaps Larch isn't so bad a chap as you'd have me believe. Trust a disgruntled lover for saying the worst about the other chap. Yes, I can't afford to take any chances. You may know a bit more about this murder than you're telling me, even considering the latest from my friend Spotty. Yes, you may be playing a double game, Mr. Aaron Grafton."