“You seem to be pretty well posted,” said he, his eyes narrowing.
“Well, I am an inquisitive sort of cuss,” drawled Malone. “And I’m not what you’d call an idle person.”
“Who told you we were sitting on that log? I don’t remember ever having mentioned it. As a matter of fact, I’d forgotten it completely. We did sit there for ten or fifteen minutes. That was before we began to quarrel. Then we got up and walked on a little farther down the road. To the bend on ahead about fifty yards. We stood there arguing for nearly half an hour. I left him standing there. I went on to Mr. Sage’s. But who told you we sat on that log?”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll not answer that question,” said Malone.
“You asked me a while ago if I had seen Pete Hines that night. Was it Pete Hines?”
Malone hesitated. “Well, it was Pete Hines who is supposed to have seen you, Mr. Baxter, but it was not he who told me about it. I went out to see him yesterday, but his shack was boarded up and there was no sign of him anywhere. Now this may interest you. There was—and still is, as far as I know—a piece of pasteboard tacked on his front door, with these words printed on it in lead pencil: ‘Beware. This house is full of snakes.’ That bears out your statement that he is never completely sober, Mr. Baxter. Now, you say this is the place where you parted that night—here at the turn. You left him standing here, you say. In the middle of the road?”
“Yes.”
“And you walked off in this direction. Did you look back?”
“I did not.”
“Just kept right on—in the middle of the road, eh?”