Sheriff Fleming strode back into the room before Bryant could answer. He announced in a baffled tone: “Dogged if I know where he went to. Up in the air, seems like. Maybe,” he added in a hushed tone, “it was Old Pete’s ghost.”
“There you are,” Carson cried. “Just as Bryant prophesied. It’s a trick to beat me out of my rightful share of the mine. But we’ll get a court order to make you produce that tobacco can. You can’t hold out evidence.”
“What tobacco can?” Shayne asked slowly.
“Why — the one you found in Pete’s cabin,” Carson faltered.
“What do you know about it?” Shayne pivoted away from Bryant to face the younger man.
“Bryant just said he was there when you dug it up.”
“He didn’t mention a tobacco can.”
“Well he — he had told me about it before,” stammered Carson, suddenly conscious that everyone in the room was eyeing him suspiciously.
A young man entered the room quietly. He was approximately the same build as Frank Carson, with wavy brown hair and intelligent dark eyes. He asked Shayne, “How did I do?”
Shayne glanced at his watch and grinned. “Exactly six minutes to get that old-man make-up off and reappear dressed in your own clothes. You’re an accomplished actor, Steele. As good, I’d say, as Carson. And I have a hunch you’re going to prove it when you play his role at the opera house tonight.”