“Dodge is resting quietly,” answered Cunningham, gravely. “He’ll be on his feet in a day or two.”
That seemed to wake up Cleigh a bit. He drew his automatic.
“Face to the wall, or I’ll send a bullet into you!”
Cunningham shook his head.
“Did you examine the clip this morning? When you carry weapons like that for protection never put it in your pocket without a look-see. Dodge wouldn’t have made your mistake. Shoot! Try it on the floor, or up through the lights—or at me if you’d like that better. The clip is empty.”
Mechanically Cleigh took aim and bore against the trigger. There was no explosion. A 116 depressing sense of unreality rolled over the Wanderer’s owner.
“So you went into town for her luggage? Did you find the beads?”
Cleigh made a negative sign. It was less an answer to Cunningham than an acknowledgment that he could not understand why the bullet clip should be empty.
“It was an easy risk,” explained Cunningham. “You carried the gun, but I doubt you ever looked it over. Having loaded it once upon a time, you believed that was sufficient, eh? Know what I think? The girl has hidden the beads in her hair. Did you search her?”
Again Cleigh shook his head, as much over the situation as over the question.