“Then Charles Hunter’s the man who’s afraid of those papers,” the other repeated, as if half dazed by the revelation.
“One of ’em,” said Trafford. “I’ve known that much a long time.”
“But if the men who are afraid of the papers aren’t the men who murdered him haven’t you knocked out the motive for the murder? That’s the thing that’s bothered all the time, and now that we’ve got hold of one, it’s a pity to lose it again.”
“Beware of clues,” half laughed Trafford. “That’s the lesson you haven’t learned yet. I’ve said Hunter was one of the men who’s afraid of the papers. I haven’t said there weren’t others. Then it doesn’t follow that the only people who wanted to get the papers were those who were afraid of ’em. Given the papers, there’s a dozen things that might make ’em the motive of the murder besides being afraid of them.”
After a silence that lasted some time, the other turned to Trafford and demanded:
“Did you know Hunter was in this thing when you set me to hunting Canucks round Millbank?”
“Certainly,” answered Trafford. “I’ve known it since a half-hour after the attack was made on me at the bridge. Why?”
“Thunder! Hunter was one of the men of whom I thought it safe to make open enquiries about Canucks I was looking for.”
“It’s never safe,” Trafford said, “to make enquiries of any one, unless you are willing that everybody should know, or anxious that one man should. In this case, ’twas just as well Hunter should know that we were on the track. He’s a man who makes his false slips when he’s the most anxious to escape.”