“That’s right. The government instrument shows the crest was a couple of inches above where the Carson girl was lying when you found her. High water was at eight-thirty-two. After that, it started dropping.”
“How fast?”
“Pretty fast. The government man and the surveyor got their heads together and they figure she’d have to’ve been dropped in the creek no later than nine-thirty to’ve lodged against the stump. Nine o’clock, more like.”
Shayne thumped the sheriff on the back. “That’s mighty good work. How about Joe Meade? Is he under guard all the time?”
“You bet he is. I’ve got a deputy sitting by the side of his bed. You reckon he killed ’em both?”
Shayne shrugged his shoulders. “We’re going to find out when he’s able to talk — about seven o’clock tonight. I want you to meet me up at the hospital at seven, Sheriff. And here’s a list of people I want there.” He handed the sheriff a sheet of paper, explaining, “I’ll notify most of them, but I haven’t any official standing around here. It’ll be up to you to round them up for me.”
Sheriff Fleming scanned the list, shaking his head. “You’ve got a mighty lot of names wrote down here.”
“Only one of them is a murderer. But each of the others has some pertinent bit of information that’ll help solve the case. By getting them all together and throwing the fear of God into them, I think we’re going to piece together the most extraordinary plan of coldblooded murder ever conceived in a human mind.”
Fleming sighed and nodded. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I can’t make head or tail out of it.”
Shayne heard his name being called by the hotel clerk in the lobby. A little man in a dusty alpaca coat waited for him at the desk. The clerk said, “This gentleman is asking for you, Mr. Shayne.”