“Express Parcel,” he said, with that guilty air which always accompanies the unskillful lie.
The zest for selling advertising space had left Carmel; she wanted to think, to be alone and to consider various matters. She felt a vague apprehension, not as to herself, but of something malign, molelike, stealthy, which dwelt in the atmosphere surrounding Gibeon. Perfunctorily she took her leave, and, instead of pursuing her quest, returned to her desk and sat there staring at the picture above her head.
Gibeon! She was thinking about Gibeon. The town had ceased to be a more or less thriving rural community, peopled by simple souls who went about their simple, humdrum round of life pleasantly, if stodgily. Rather the town and its people became a protective covering, a sort of camouflage to conceal the real thing which enacted itself invisibly. She wondered if Gibeon itself realized. It seemed not to. It laughed and worked and went to church and quarreled about line fences and dogs and gossiped about its neighbors as any other town did.... Perhaps, unaccustomed to the life, excited by new environment, she had given too great freedom to her imagination.... She did not believe so. No. Something was going on; some powerful evil influence was at work, ruthless, malevolent. Its face was hidden and it left no footprints. It was capable of murder!... What was this thing? What was its purpose? What activity could include the doing away with a sheriff and the services of a rural fop like Lancelot Bangs?...
Carmel was young. She was dainty, lovely. Always she had been shielded and protected and petted—which, fortunately, had not impaired the fiber of her character.... Now, for the first time, she found herself staring into the white, night eyes of one of life’s grim realities; knew herself to be touched by it—and the knowledge frightened her....
Evan Bartholomew Pell stayed her unpleasant thoughts, and she was grateful to him.
“Miss Lee—I have—ah—been engaged upon a computation of some interest—academically. It is, of course, based upon an arbitrary hypothesis—nevertheless it is instructive.”
“Yes,” said Carmel, wearily.
“We take for our hypothesis,” said Evan, “the existence of a number of men willing to evade or break the law for profit. Having assumed the existence of such an association, we arrive upon more certain ground.... Our known facts are these. Intoxicating liquor is prohibited in the United States. Second, intoxicants may be bought freely over the Canadian line. Third, the national boundary is some twenty miles distant. Fourth, whisky, gin, et cetera, command exceedingly high prices in the United States. I am informed liquor of excellent quality commands as much as a hundred dollars per dozen bottles, and less desirable stock up to fifty and seventy-five dollars. Fifth, these same liquors may be bought for a fraction of that cost across the line. Now, we arrive at one of our conclusions. The hypothetical association of lawless men, provided they could smuggle liquor into this country, would realize a remarkable percentage of profit. Deducting various costs, I estimate the average profit per dozen bottles would approximate thirty-five dollars. I fancy this is low rather than excessive. One thousand cases would fetch a profit of thirty-five thousand dollars.... Let us suppose an efficient company engaged in the traffic. They would smuggle into the country a thousand cases a month.... In that case their earnings would total three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.... Ahem!... Interesting, is it not?”
“Yes,” said Carmel, “but what set you thinking about it?”
Evan peered at her gravely through his spectacles, as he might peer at some minute zoological specimen through a microscope, and was long in replying.