“Your guess was right,” he said. “Here is the body.”
It had been pitched far enough out, so that in its fall it did not break bushes; and it lay in a crumpled heap.
The scout only tarried long enough to be sure that it was the body of the man known to him as Jackson Dane; then he came climbing up out of the black depths.
“Yes,” he added, “whoever had the body threw it over here, to get rid of it; and took it from that other place so that it might not be found by the searchers.”
“Why sh’d he wanted ter do thet?” Nomad queried.
“I can only guess, of course; though he ought to have known that it had already been seen. In law, you know, the body must be produced, or identified, in order to convict any one of murder; otherwise, there could be no showing absolutely that the man supposed to be murdered was dead. He might be living, somewhere in secret. But it was a foolish move, in this case, to try to hide it here, it seems to me; as the body had already been seen.”
“Aber the man vot dook it mighdtn’t haf knowed dot,” suggested the German.
“Very true.”
“But about thet woman and Juniper Joe cuttin’ out?” said Nomad. “You air shore of thet?”