"If I was to offer to put you next to a piece of pretty evidence, how'd that suit you?"
Samson had to relight the cigar, in order to get opportunity to read Dick's face before he answered.
"I don't think so, Blaine, thank you—at least not at present. If you've direct evidence of an eye-witness, of course—"
"Nothing like that," said Dick.
"Well, I'll be candid with you, Blaine. We know quite well who the murderer is. At the right moment we shall land on him hammer and tongs. But you see—we need to choose the right moment, for political reasons. Now—technically speaking—all evidence in criminal cases ought to go to the police, and the police might act too hastily—you understand me?"
"If you know who the man is, of course," said Dick, "there's nothing more I need do."
"Except to be discreet, Blaine! Please be discreet! We shall get the man. Don't doubt it! You and your wife have set us all an example here of minding nobody's business except your own. I'd be awfully obliged if you'd keep yourself as far as possible out of this mess. Should we need any further evidence than we've got already, I'd ask you for it, of course."
"Suits me all right," said Dick. "I'm mum."
"Thanks awfully, Blaine. Can I offer you a cigar? I'm on my way to take a look at the fort. Seems like an anachronism, doesn't it, for us to keep an old-fashioned fort like this so near our own border in native territory. Care to come with me? Well, so long then—see you at the club again, I suppose?"
Samson rode on.