eft the bungalow with the playwright.

For some little time after the stuttering purr of the motor-car had died
away the two men sat as Wingfield had left them, each busy with his own
thoughts. Bromley was absently fingering the cartridges from Sanderson's
rifle, mute proofs of the truth of the playwright's theories, and
Ballard seemed to have forgotten that he had promised Fitzpatrick to run
a line for an additional side-track in the railroad yard.

"Do you blame me, Loudon?" he asked, after the silence had wrought its
perfect work.

"No; there was nothing else to do. But I couldn't help being sorry for
him."

"So was I," was the instant rejoinder. "Wingfield is all kinds of a
decent fellow; and the way he has untangled the thing is nothing short
of masterly. But I had to tie his tongue; you know I had to do that,
Loudon."

"Of course, you had to."

Silence again for a little space; and then:

"There is no doubt in your mind that he has hit upon the true solution
of all the little mysteries?"

Bromley shook his head slowly. "None at all, I am sorry to say. I have
suspected it, in part, at least, for a good while. And I had proof
positive before Wingfield gave it to us."

"How?" queried Ballard.

Bromley was still fingering the cartridges. "I hate to tell you,
Breckenridge. And yet you ought to know," he added. "It concerns you
vitally."

Ballard's smile was patient. "I am well past the shocking point," he
averred. "After what we have pulled through in the last hour we may as
well make a clean sweep of it."

"Well, then; I didn't stumble over the canyon cliff that night four
weeks ago: I was knocked over."

"What!"

"It's true."

"And you know who did it?"

"I can make a pretty good guess. While I was down at the wing dam a man
passed me, coming from the direction of the great house. He was a big
man, and he was muffled to the ears in a rain-coat. I know, because I
heard the peculiar 'mackintosh' rustle as he went by me. I knew then who
it was; would have known even if I hadn't had a glimpse of his face at
the passing instant. It is one of the colonel's eccentricities never to
go out after nightfall--in a bone-dry country, mind you--without wearing
a rain-coat."

"Well?" said Ballard.

"He didn't see me, though I thought at first that he did; he kept
looking back as if he were expecting somebody to follow him. He took the
path on our side of the canyon--the one I took a few minutes later.
That