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  "Do," suggested Kirby, smiling. "Then we'll both tell what we know and perhaps things will clear up a bit."

  It was a bluff pure and simple. He couldn't tell what he knew any more than his cousin could. The part played by Rose and Esther McLean in the story barred him from the luxury of truth-telling. Moreover, he had no real evidence to back his suspicions. But Jack did not know how strong the restraining influence was.

  "I didn't say I was going to 'phone. I said I'd a jolly good mind to,"

  Cunningham replied sulkily.

  "I'd advise you not to start anything you can't finish, Jack. I'll give you one more piece of advice, too. Come clean with what you know. I'm goin' to find out, anyhow. Make up your mind to that. I'm goin' through with this job till it's done."

  "You'll pull off your Sherlock-Holmes stuff in jail, then, for I'm going to ask James to get off your bond," Jack retorted vindictively.

  "As you please about that," Lane said quietly.

  "He'll choose between you or me. I'll be damned if I'll stand for his keeping a man out of jail to try and fasten on me a murder I didn't do."

  "I haven't said you did it. What I say is that you and Miss Harriman know somethin' an' are concealin' it. What is it? I'm not a fool. I don't think you killed Uncle any more than I did. But you an' Miss Harriman have a secret. Why don't you go to James an' make a clean breast of it? He'll tell you what to do."

  "The devil he will! I tell you we haven't any secret. We weren't in

  Uncle's rooms that night."

  "Can you prove an alibi for the whole evening—both of you?" the range rider asked curtly.

  "None of your business. We're not in the prisoner's dock. It's you that is likely to be there," Jack tossed out petulantly.

  Phyllis Harriman had flung herself down to sob with her head in the pillows. But Kirby noticed that one small pink ear was in the open to take in the swift sentences passing between the men.

  "I'm intendin' to make it my business," Lane said, his voice ominously quiet.

  "You're laying up trouble for yourself," Jack warned blackly. "If you want me for an enemy you're going at this the right way."

  "I'm not lookin' for enemies. What I want is the truth. You're concealin' it. We'll see if you can make it stick."

  "We're not concealing a thing."

  "Last call for you to show down your cards, Jack. Are you with me or against me?" asked Kirby.

  "Against you, you meddling fool!" Cunningham burst out in a gust of fury. "Don't you meddle with my affairs, unless you want trouble right off the bat. I'm not going to have a Paul Pry nosing around and hinting slanders about me and Miss Harriman. What do you think I am? I'll protect my good name and this lady's if I have to do it with a gun. Don't forget that, Mr. Lane."

  Kirby's steady gaze appraised him coolly. "You're excited an' talkin' foolishness. I'm not attackin' anybody's good name. I'm lookin' for the man who killed Uncle James. I'm expectin' to find him. If anybody stands in the way, I'm liable to run against him."

  The man from Twin Buttes bowed toward the black hair and pink ear of his hostess. He turned on his heel and walked from the room.

  CHAPTER XXIII

  COUSINS DISAGREE

  It was essential to Kirby's plans that he should be at liberty. If he should be locked up in prison even for a few days the threads that he had begun to untangle from the snarl known as the Cunningham mystery would again be ensnared. He was not sure what action James would take at his brother's demand that he withdraw from the bond. But Lane had no desire to embarrass him by forcing the issue. He set about securing a new bond.

  He was, ten minutes later, in the law offices of Irwin, Foster & Warren, attorneys who represented the cattle interests in Wyoming with which Kirby was identified. Foster, a stout, middle-aged man with only a few locks of gray hair left, heard what the rough rider had to say.

  "I'll wire to Caldwell and to Norman as you suggest, Mr. Lane," he said. "If they give me instructions to stand back of you, I'll arrange a new bond as soon as possible."

  "Will it take long? I can't afford to be tied up behind the bars right now."

  "Not if I can get it accepted. I'll let you know at once."

  Kirby rose. He had finished his business.

  "Just a moment, Mr. Lane." Foster leaned back in his swivel-chair and looked out of the window. His eyes did not focus on any detail of the office building opposite. They had the far-away look which denotes a preoccupied mind. "Ever been to Golden?" he asked at last abruptly, swinging back in his seat and looking at his client.

  "No. Why?"

  "Golden is the Gretna Green of Denver, you know. When young people elope they go to Golden. When a couple gets married and doesn't want it known they choose Golden. Very convenient spot."

  "I'm not figuring on gettin' married right now," the cattleman said, smiling.

  "Still you might find a visit to the place interesting and useful. I was there on business a couple of weeks ago."

  The eyes of the men fastened. Lane knew he was being given a hint that

  Foster did not want to put more directly.

  "What are the interestin' points of the town?" asked the Twin Buttes man.

  "Well, sir, there are several. Of course, there's the School of Mines, and the mountains right back of the town. Gold was discovered there somewhere about fifty-seven, I think. Used to be the capital of the territory before Denver found her feet."

  "I'm rather busy."

  "Wouldn't take you long to run over on the interurban." The lawyer began to gather toward him the papers upon which he had been working when the client was shown in. He added casually: "I found it quite amusing to look over the marriage licenses of the last month or two. Found the names there of some of our prominent citizens. Well, I'll call you up as soon as I know about the bond."

  Lane was not entirely satisfied with what he had been told, but he knew that Foster had said all he meant to say. One thing stuck in his mind as the gist of the hint. The attorney was advising him to go to the court-house and check up the marriage licenses.

  He walked across to the Equitable Building and dropped in on his cousin James. Cunningham rose to meet him a bit stiffly. The cattleman knew that Jack had already been in to see him or had got him on the wire.

  Kirby brushed through any embarrassment there might be and told frankly why he had come.

  "I've had a sort of row with Jack. Under the circumstances I don't feel that I ought to let you stay on my bond. It might create ill-feelin' between you an' him. So I'm arrangin' to have some Wyoming friends put up whatever's required. You'll understand I haven't any bad feeling against you, or against him for that matter. You've been bully all through this thing, an' I'm certainly in your debt."

  "What's the trouble between you about?" asked James.

  "I've found out that he an' Miss Harriman were in Uncle James's rooms the night he was killed. I want them to come through an' tell what they know."

  "How did you find that out?"

  The eyes of the oil broker were hard as jade. They looked straight into those of his cousin.

  "I can't tell you that exactly. Put two an' two together."

  "You mean you guess they were there. You don't know it."

  A warm, friendly smile lit the brown face of the rough rider. He wanted to remain on good terms with James if he could. "I don't know it in a legal sense. Morally, I'm convinced of it."

  "Even though they deny it."

  "Practically they admitted rather than denied."

  "Do you think it was quite straight, Kirby, to go to Miss Harriman with such a trumped-up charge? I don't. I confess I'm surprised at you." In voice and expression James showed his disappointment.

  "It isn't a trumped-up charge. I wanted to know the truth from her."

  "Why didn't you go to Jack, then?"'

  "I didn't know at that time Jack was the man with her."

  "You don't know it now. You don't know she was there. In point of fact the idea is ridic
ulous. You surely don't think for a moment that she had anything to do with Uncle James's death."

  "No; not in the sense that she helped bring it about. But she knows somethin' she's hidin'."

  "That's absurd. Your imagination is too active, Kirby."

  "Can't agree with you." Lane met him eye to eye.

  "Grant for the sake of argument that she was in Uncle's room that night. Your friend Miss Rose McLean was there, too—by her own confession. When she came to Jack and me with her story, we respected it. We did not insist on knowing why she was there, and it was of her own free will she told us. Yet you go to our friend and distress her by implications that must shock and wound her. Was that generous? Was it even fair?"

  The cattleman stood convicted at the bar of his own judgment. His cousins had been magnanimous to Esther and Rose, more so than he had been to Miss Harriman. Yet, even while he confessed fault, he felt uneasily that there was a justification he could not quite lay hold of and put into words.

  "I'm sorry you feel that way, James. Perhaps I was wrong. But you want to remember that I wasn't askin' about what she knew with any idea of makin' it public or tellin' the police. I meant to keep it under my own hat to help run down a cold-blooded murderer."

  "You can't want to run him down any more than we do—and in that 'we' I include Jack and Miss Harriman as well as myself," the older man answered gravely. "But I'm sure you're entirely wrong. Miss Harriman knows nothing about it. If she had she would have confided in us."

  "Perhaps she has confided in Jack."

  "Don't you think that obsession of yours is rather—well, unlikely, to put it mildly? Analyze it and you'll find you haven't a single substantial fact to base it on."

  This was true. Yet Kirby's opinion was not changed. He still believed that Jack and Miss Harriman had been in his uncle's rooms just before Wild Rose had been there.

  He returned to the subject of the bond. It seemed to him best, he said, in view of Jack's feeling, to get other bondsmen. He hoped James would not interpret this to mean that he felt less friendly toward him.

  His cousin bowed, rather formally. "Just as you please. Would you like the matter arranged this afternoon?"

  Lane looked at his watch. "I haven't heard from my new bondsmen yet.

  Besides, I want to go to Golden. Would to-morrow morning suit you?"

  "I dare say." James stifled a yawn. "Did you say you were going to

  Golden?"

  "Yes. Some one gave me a tip. I don't know what there's in it, but I thought I'd have a look at the marriage-license registry."

  Cunningham flashed a startled glance at him that asked a peremptory question. "Probably waste of time. I've been in the oil business too long to pay any attention to tips."

  "Expect you're right, but I'll trot out there, anyhow. Never can tell."

  "What do you expect to find among the marriage licenses?"

  "Haven't the slightest idea. I'll tell you tomorrow what I do find."

  James made one dry, ironic comment. "I rather think you have too much imagination for sleuthing. You let your wild fancies gallop away with you. If I were you I'd go back to bronco busting."

  Kirby laughed. "Dare say you're right. I'll take your advice after we get the man we're after."

  CHAPTER XXIV

  REVEREND NICODEMUS RANKIN FORGETS AND REMEMBERS

  By appointment Kirby met Rose at Graham & Osborne's for luncheon. She was waiting in the tower room for him.

  "Where's Esther?" he asked.

  Rose mustered a faint smile. "She's eating lunch with a handsomer man."

  "You can't throw a stone up Sixteenth Street without hittin' one," he answered gayly.

  They followed the head waitress to a small table for two by a window. Rose walked with the buoyant rhythm of perfect health. Her friend noticed, as he had often done before, that she had the grace of movement which is a corollary to muscles under perfect response. Seated across the table from her, he marveled once more at the miracle of her soft skin and the peach bloom of her complexion. Many times she had known the sting of sleet and the splash of sun on her face. Yet incredibly her cheeks did not tan nor lose their fineness.

  "You haven't told me who this handsomer man is," Kirby suggested.

  "Cole Sanborn." She flushed a little, but looked straight at him.

  "Have you told him—about Esther?"

  "No. But from somethin' he said I think he guesses."

  Her eyes softened. "He's awf'ly good to Esther. I can see he likes her and she likes him. Why couldn't she have met him first? She's so lovable." Tears brimmed to her eyes. "That's been her ruin. She was ready to believe any man who said he cared for her. Even when she was a little bit of a trick when people liked her, she was grateful to them for it and kinda snuggled up to them. I never saw a more cuddly baby."

  "Have you found out anything more yet about—the man?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

  "No. It's queer how stubborn she can be for all her softness. But she almost told me last night. I'll find out in a day or two now. Of course it was your uncle. The note I found was really an admission of guilt. Your cousins feel that some settlement ought to be made on Esther out of the estate. I've been trying to decide what would be fair. Will you think it over and let me know what seems right to you?"

  The waitress came, took their order, and departed.

  "I'm goin' out to Golden to-day on a queer wild-goose chase," Kirby said. "A man gave me a hint. He didn't want to tell me the information out an' out, whatever it is. I don't know why. What he said was for me to go to Golden an' look over the list of marriage licenses for the past month or two."

  Her eyes flashed an eager question at him. "You don't suppose—it couldn't be that Esther was married to your uncle secretly and that she promised not to tell."

  "I hadn't thought of that. It might be." His eyes narrowed in concentration. "And if Jack an' Miss Harriman had just found it out, that would explain why they called on Uncle James the night he was killed. Do you want to go to Golden with me?"

  She nodded, eagerly. "Oh, I do, Kirby! I believe we'll find out something there. Shall we go by the interurban?"

  "As soon as we're through lunch."

  They walked across along Arapahoe Street to the loop and took a Golden car. It carried them by the viaduct over the Platte River and through the North Side into the country. They rushed past truck farms and apple orchards into the rolling fields beyond, where the crops had been harvested and the land lay in the mellow bath of a summer sun. They swung round Table Mountain into the little town huddled at the foot of Lookout.

  From the terminus of the line they walked up the steep hill to the court-house. An automobile, new and of an expensive make, was standing by the curb. Just as Kirby and Rose reached the machine a young man ran down the steps of the court-house and stepped into the car. The man was Jack Cunningham. He took the driver's seat. Beside him was a veiled young woman in a leather motoring-coat. In spite of the veil Lane recognized her as Phyllis Harriman.

  Cunningham caught sight of his cousin and anger flushed his face. Without a word he reached for the starter, threw in the clutch, and gave the engine gas.

  The rough rider watched the car move down the hill. "I've made a mistake," he told his companion. "I told James I was comin' here to-day. He let Jack know, an' he's beat us to it."

  "What harm will that do?" asked Rose. "The information will be there for us, too, won't it?"

  "Mebbe it will. Mebbe it won't. We'll soon find out."

  Rose caught her friend's arm as they were passing through the hall. "Kirby, do you suppose your cousins really know Esther was married to your uncle? Do you think they can be trying to keep it quiet so she can't claim the estate?"

  He stopped in his stride. James had deprecated the idea of his coming to Golden and had ridiculed the possibility of his unearthing any information of value. Yet he must have called up Jack as soon as he had left the office. And Jack had hurried to the town within the hour
. It might be that. Rose had hit on the reason for the hostility he felt on the part of both cousins to his activities. There was something they did not want brought to the light of day. What more potent reason could there be for concealment than their desire to keep the fortune of the millionaire in their own hands?

  "I shouldn't wonder if you haven't rung the bull's-eye, pardner," he told her. "We ought to know right soon now."

  The clerk in the recorder's office smiled when Kirby said he wanted to look through the license register. He swung the book round toward them.

  "Help yourself. What's the big idea? Another young fellow was in lookin' at the licenses only a minute ago."

  The clerk moved over to another desk where he was typewriting. His back was turned toward them. Kirby turned the pages of the book. He and Rose looked them over together. They covered the record for three months without finding anything of interest. Patiently they went over the leaves again.

  Kirby stepped over to the clerk. "Do you happen to remember whether you made out any license application for a man named Cunningham any time in the past two months?" he asked.

  "For a marriage license?"

  "Yes."

  "Don't think I have. Can't remember the name. I was on my vacation two weeks. Maybe it was then. Can't you find it in the book?"

  "No."

  "Know the date?"

  Kirby shook his head.

  The voice of Rose, high with excitement, came from across the room.

  "Looky here."

  Her finger ran down the book, close to the binding. A page had been cut out with a sharp penknife, so deftly that they had passed it twice without noticing.

  "Who did that?" demanded the clerk angrily.

  "Probably the young man who was just in here. His name is Jack

  Cunningham," Lane answered.

  "What in time did he want to do that for? If he wanted it why didn't he take a copy? The boss'll give me Hail Columbia. That's what a fellow gets for being accommodating."