“But,” he continued, “you didn’t kill him. Somebody evidently stabbed and left him here. His partner, no doubt. Probably took whatever he had on him, too.”
Patricia breathed a prayer of thanksgiving.
“I thought so,” continued the officer, as he hastily ran his fingers through the pockets of the dead man, and found nothing. “Cleaned out.”
“We’d better get him on the truck and take him to the morgue,” said the coroner. “Give us a hand, Jones,” to the mechanic. “Drive ahead a little, lady, and give us more room.”
Patricia moved on a few feet and discovered that there was not space enough in that particular spot to turn around; so she proceeded slowly until she came to a place where the trees were a little farther back from the road.
“Think you can make it?” inquired Jane, lowering the window to watch the tree trunks on her side of the car.
“By going off the road a bit; it looks fairly level here.”
It took some maneuvering to get the car headed in the opposite direction, and Patricia’s arms ached before the feat was finally accomplished. Suddenly she stopped the machine, opened the door, and jumped out.
“What on earth is the matter now?” called Jane, sliding over the driver’s seat and sticking her head out of the open door.
Patricia, who was stooping over something a few feet ahead, in the glare of the headlights, made no reply.