"And you were wearing that rain-coat when you did it?"
The Mexican nodded. "I'll wear heem h-always w'en da sun gone down—same like-a da Colonel."
"Also, you were wearing it that other night, when you heaved a stone down on my office roof?"
Another nod.
"But on the night when you scared Hoskins and made him double up his train on Dead Man's Curve, you didn't wear it; you wore a shooting-coat and a cap like the one Braithwaite used to wear."
The posing statue laughed hardily. "Dat was one—w'at you call heem?—one beeg joke. I'll been like to make dat 'Oskins break hees h'own neck, si: hees talk too much 'bout da man w'at drown' heself."
"And the Carson business: you were mixed up in that, too?"
"Dat was one meestake, al-so; one ver' beeg meestake. I'll hire dat dam'-fool Carson to shoot da ditch. I t'ink you and da beeg h-Irishman take-a da trail and Carson keel you. Carson, he'll take-a da money, and make for leetle scheme to steal cattle. Som' day I keel heem for dat."
"Not in this world," cut in Ballard, briefly. "You're out of the game, from this on." And then, determined to be at the bottom of the final mystery: "You played the spy on Mr. Wingfield, Bromley, Blacklock and me one afternoon when we were talking about these deviltries. Afterward, you went up to Castle 'Cadia. That evening Mr. Wingfield nearly lost his life. Did you have a hand in that?"
Again the Mexican laughed. "Señor Wingfiel' he is know too moch. Som' day he is make me ver' sorry for myself. So I'll hide be'ind dat fornace, and give heem one leetle push, so"—with the appropriate gesture.