He tried the door. It opened. A broken hasp dangled. He turned to Tremaine. "Maybe this is more than kid stuff," he said. "You carry a gun?"
"In the car."
"Better get it."
Tremaine went to the car, dropped the pistol in his coat pocket, rejoined Jess inside the house. It was silent, deserted. In the kitchen Jess flicked the beam of his flashlight around the room. An empty plate lay on the oilcloth-covered table.
"This place is empty," he said. "Anybody'd think he'd been gone a week."
"Not a very cozy—" Tremaine broke off. A thin yelp sounded in the distance.
"I'm getting jumpy," said Jess. "Dern hounddog, I guess."
A low growl seemed to rumble distantly. "What the devil's that?" Tremaine said.
Jess shone the light on the floor. "Look here," he said. The ring of light showed a spatter of dark droplets all across the plank floor.
"That's blood, Jess...." Tremaine scanned the floor. It was of broad slabs, closely laid, scrubbed clean but for the dark stains.