Clement was rather startled. “That sounds rather crude for a criminal of Neuburg’s propensities,” he said.
“Nope, it wasn’t crude. He traveled by a different railway system to a different valley. He didn’t even go near Roberts’s camp. But this detective, who was nosing round, found that he had stayed at a hotel in a neighboring valley for a week end shoot, that he had gone off, early in the morning of Saturday, the day of Roberts’ death, that he went out shooting without a guide, and though nobody could tell the direction he went, he had time to go somewhere close to where Roberts’s body was found.”
“There were other clues of course?”
“They began to come down in a blizzard, once they started. Roberts’s actions had been unusual on that day. First, he had made his plans to go out shooting to the west with a couple of guides. Then, early, he had got a special delivery letter. After reading that letter, he changed his plans, went out shooting alone, and went east—that is, towards the hotel where Nachbar was staying. His body was found about half-way between.”
“But didn’t all this come out at the inquest?”
“The inquest was on a man accidentally killed. These points were passed over as interesting, but not relevant.”
“But the letter—if it made an appointment——?”
“That letter was never found. It wasn’t on him when his body was brought in. Everything on him down to his bootlaces was impounded by the Court, but no special delivery letter was found. Some one had taken that letter from his body after his—apparently—lonely death.”
“It must have been signed for? Didn’t the postoffice know anything about it?”