They did not go straight to that place. They had reasoned it out that Neuburg dare not go there. He would know that Sicamous was warned, and that only arrest awaited him.
They cut through the lake at their best speed, searching the shore on either side, swinging into little inlets and out again, in their search for the motor boat that had carried Neuburg.
A man in the bow shouted and pointed. They turned their eyes to the lakeside below a clearing. Piled high, with the boats she towed knocking at her rudder post, was the motor boat. Above the motor boat in the clearing was a shack. As they drove towards it, Gatineau rapped.
“Heck! See the reason? He landed here. There’s a telephone.”
They made the shore; three of them piled out of their boat; two sat with guns ready for anything.
They ran to the shack, calling out, but nobody came to meet them. They hammered at the door post; there was no answer. They went in through the door into a living-room. It was empty.
Here they saw the trail of Neuburg. A cupboard had been forced and food taken from it, hurriedly, so that other food was scattered. On the table were two empty cartridge boxes, and several of the shells had fallen on the floor as the big man had emptied the cartons in a hurry. The telephone receiver dangled helplessly, and the wire had been snipped off short.
They pushed into the two bedrooms, one was stark empty, one seemed so, but Gatineau heard a whimper. Bending swiftly, he jerked a boy of ten from under the bed. Even as the little detective yanked the boy to his feet the kid pulled a gun, and only Gatineau’s agility saved him from a bullet in the stomach.