“Which way would you go toward Brewster?”
“That way,” said the superintendent, pointing.
“All right; let’s go a little way toward Brewster, and perhaps I can show you why Mr. Follansbee would lose his bet on his dogs.”
When they were well out of the dog-circling area, the chemistry expert stooped and struck a match. “See here,” he said; and Maxwell, squatting beside him, saw the broad track of an automobile tire. Sprague gurgled softly. “Do you think the dogs will get the scent of that?” he inquired.
Maxwell stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Calvin, the way you hop across and light upon the one only sure thing, comes mighty near being uncanny, at times. How the devil did you find out that those fellows came in an auto?”
“If I should tell you that it was pure reasoning, you’d doubt it. But never mind the whys and wherefores just now; they can come later. Tell me how long we’re going to stay here losing time on Follansbee and his dogs.”
“Not a minute longer than you care to stay. What do you want to do?”
“I want to see that crippled express messenger who was put off the train at Corona. Also, I’d like to have a look at the dead man’s coffin.”
“You shall do both. If you’re taking the case, you are very pointedly the only doctor there is in it,” Maxwell asserted. Then he called to the sheriff: “O Harding!” and when the county officer came up: “I’m going to take the train and run on to Corona after Galt. We’ll stop here for your orders when we come back.”