ominous pause when the doctor finished speaking, while
all eyes were focused upon Jim's face. There was no doubt but that the
majority were looking for signs of that guilt which in their hearts
they believed to be his.

But they were doomed to disappointment. They certainly saw a change of
expression, for Jim was puzzled. Why had Doc Crombie not produced the
knife and the handkerchiefs? But perhaps he wanted his story first,
and then would confront him with the evidence against him. Yet his
manner was purely judicial. It in no way suggested that he possessed
damning evidence.

He looked fearlessly around, and his gaze finally settled upon the
doctor's face.

"I'm puzzled, Doc," he said quietly. "There's certainly something I
can't make out. I told you all I had to tell," he went on. "I was out
on the south side of that bluff, for reasons which I told Anthony
Smallbones were my own business, when I found Will Henderson lying
dead in the grass, a few feet from some bushes. I did not at first
realize he was dead. I saw the wound on his jaw, and, touching it,
discovered the bone was broken. Then I discovered that his clothes
were torn open, his chest bare, and a large knife, such as any
prairie man carries in his belt, was sticking in his chest, plunged
right up to the hilt." There was a stir, and a murmur of astonishment
went round the room. "Wait a moment," he continued, holding up his
hand for silence. "I discovered more than that. I found two
handkerchiefs, a white one, ripped into a rough bandage, and a silk
neck scarf, such as many of us wear, was folded up into a sort of pad.
Both were blood-stained, and looked as though they had been used as
bandages for his face. They were lying a yard away from the body. Have
you got those things, because, if so, they ought to be a handsome clue
for sure?"

But by the expression of blank astonishment, even incredulity on the
doctor's face, and a similar response from most of the onlookers, it
was obvious that this was all news to them.

Doc shook his head.

"Ther' was no knife--no scarves. But say," he asked sharply, "why
didn't you speak of 'em before?"

"It didn't occur to me. I thought you'd sure find 'em. So--I guess
they've been removed since. Probably the murderer thought them
incriminating----"

"A hell of a fine yarn." It was Smallbones' voice that now made itself
heard. "Say, don't you'se fellows see his drift? It's a yarn to put
you off, an' make you think t