Shayne stopped at the foot of the bed with an impatient gesture. “To throw suspicion off himself — if he felt we were closing in.”
“Isn’t it pushing a gag pretty far to almost kill himself?”
Shayne said carelessly, “Some men go a little bit nuts when they get scared. He might have planned to have the bullet just graze his temple. The slightest miscalculation would make the difference.” He went back to his chair.
“But, if you think Joe did it — why did you tell the sheriff you wanted a guard to keep Joe in and everybody else out? That sounds as though he might be in danger.”
“I didn’t say I thought Joe did it. I didn’t say I thought Joe shot himself. Hell, I don’t know what to think. If someone else shot him, it must have been the murderer. And Joe saw him. In that case, I’d expect the killer to make an attempt to finish the job before Joe is able to talk.”
Phyllis shuddered and snuggled deeper into the covers. “Hadn’t you better come to bed? It’s cold.”
“I’ve got thinking to do. And the cognac keeps me warm.”
After a short silence, he asked, “How far is it to Telluride?”
“Didn’t we drive through it last week? That tiny old mining town at the base of those terrific towering mountains? Remember? It’s at the bottom of that gloriously dangerous road — the Million Dollar Highway.”
Shayne nodded. “It’s about a good day’s drive from here.”