“And this fellow’s name—here on Dead River?”
“Pierre Duchesney.”
“And the other?”
“Victor Vignon.”
“It can scarcely have any bearing,” Trafford asserted after some thought. “Nothing definite in the way of plans could have been formed so promptly. The murder was only twenty-four hours old then.”
“But they went to Millbank; spent four days in the old Indian hut back of Madison Beeches, and were not seen in Millbank during the entire time. Then, no one knows how, the one appears at Parlin Pond, and works from there over to Dead River. He’s a big, strapping fellow; the other one was medium height and size—much the slighter made of the two.”
“But I tell you,” Trafford affirmed; “if they were called to Millbank, the call must have come before the murder was known—they came for something else than to assault the man supposed to have those papers.”
“And were at hand conveniently to assault the man who was supposedly in possession of the papers, when it was found that they had involuntarily changed hands.”
This view struck Trafford and he gave it some little thought, while the other waited as if for his final judgment.
“As long as we’re here, we may as well have a look at your man,” said Trafford.