“I see you don’t believe me, but it’s the truth. Rascomb and I righted the boat and shot through the pass. We reached the lodge and started for here in the sound truck.”
“Rascomb came with you?”
“We started together. At Clear Lake he said he had forgotten an important matter and must return to the lodge.”
Since this part of Doyle’s story tallied with what Fleur had reported about Rascomb’s actions, Flash was inclined to believe that the pair actually had started for Excelsior City together, and that later Rascomb had turned back.
Doyle spoke again in a strangely subdued voice. “Flash, we’ve never liked each other any too well. That was my fault, probably. I haven’t made things pleasant for you. But I don’t want you to think I’d be a party to any plot against you.”
Flash was impressed with Doyle’s apparent sincerity. After all, he thought, there was at least a possibility that Doyle had not seen Rascomb’s attack upon him. The words had a genuine ring.
“I don’t know what to think,” he said slowly.
Doyle made no further attempt to convince Flash. Instead, he reached for a sheet of paper on the desk and dropped it into the waste basket.
“I was sending a wire to the News-Vue people,” he explained. “I’m glad it won’t be necessary now.”
Flash’s gaze wandered slowly about the room. It came to rest upon Doyle’s suitcase, neatly strapped, standing by the door.