A hush came over the room. An old-fashioned clock ticked loudly. Presently Meade’s feet shuffled away from the table and he went over and sat down. His head dropped in his hands. For several minutes he sat there in deep abstraction. He was thinking deeply. Then, with unexpected suddenness, he bounded to his feet.
“I’ve solved your mystery!” he shouted.
The three other occupants of the room surrounded him in a body.
“Tell us,” cried Rand.
The free-trader waved them to their chairs.
“Sit down,” he commanded, “and I’ll tell you all about it. But I must begin at the beginning, so that it will all be clear to you.”
“Yes, yes,” breathed Rand.
“Dewberry was my friend. I was his guest one time at Peace River Crossing. You know where his place is?” He turned to Wyatt.
“A little cottage on a hill. Overlooks the Hart River,” answered the policeman.
“Have you ever been inside of it?”