There was a short, gloomy silence, and then Clay asked:
“Mr. King, where were the men when you entered the house?”
“I did not see them when I first entered,” answered the deputy, with a quiet smile. “They were somewhere ahead of me.”
“When did you first see them?” questioned Don, in a moment.
“I was in the room back of the sitting room when the shots were fired and I naturally rushed forward, thinking that Trumbull had been foolish enough to do some shooting. When I passed through the rear door to the sitting room, the two men were in a back corner of the apartment, and Alex stood in front of the sleeping room with the smoking gun in his hand.”
“Did you hear any noise after the firing of the shots?”
“Several. Tell me the sort of noise you refer to.”
“A noise like the sliding of a metal substance across a bare floor.”
“You have the detective instinct, son,” King replied, with a grin. “Yes, I did hear a noise which might have been made by a gun sliding across a bare floor! But we’ll talk of that later. What I want to know now is what these men said to you boys this morning.”
“So you know of that, too?” asked Clay, in amazement.