Shayne said, “I think Mr. Raton’s reputation will make him a credible witness if the question arises in court.” He moved slowly toward Bryant. “I wonder why you’re sticking your oar in. What stake do you have in proving Dalcor dead?”
Bryant met his gaze steadily. “You insisted that I attend this conference, God knows why. I just want to warn these people that you’ve got a rep for pulling stunts like this. Ten to one, you’ve twisted it around so you stand to make something by proving the dead man wasn’t named Dalcor.”
“That must be it,” Frank Carson put in angrily from behind Shayne. “He and his wife are in it together with this imported expert witness.” He gestured angrily toward Raton.
“But you won’t get away with this one, Shamus,” Bryant broke in. “You’ll have a tough time getting around those clippings and things the murdered man had stashed away in his cabin.”
“What clippings and things?” Shayne asked coldly.
“The ones you dug up from under the hearth last night. These two men were there when you found them.” The gambler indicated Windrow and Strenk.
Shayne raised his eyebrows at the two local men. “Do either of you know what this man is talking about? Did you see me dig up anything in Pete’s cabin?”
They both shook their heads stoutly. “First we heard of it,” they vowed.
Bryant began to curse Shayne in a low metallic voice. The redhead slouched closer and hit him in the mouth. Bryant was slammed back against the wall. Blood trickled down his chin. He licked at it and stopped swearing.
“This is what I’ve been waiting for,” Shayne told him softly. “I thought you’d draw cards when you saw the way things were beginning to stack up.”