Bayne Trevors's way had ever been to play safe, the way of a coward or
a wise man. Even now, no doubt he was giving an account of himself in
legitimate endeavor at the lumber camp, putting in his appearance at
his regular hour, safe miles lying between him and that which might
occur upon the Blue Lake ranch, establishing alibis, conducting himself
like the man he wished the world to think him. But in the mind of Bud
Lee there was no question, no doubt. Bayne Trevors, or one of Bayne
Trevors's gang, was even at this instant holding Judith somewhere until
this colossal deal could be put over. Trevors or one of his gang--and
Lee's face went whiter, his hands shut tighter into hard fists, as
there came to his mind the picture of Quinnion's twisted face and evil,
red-rimmed eyes.
"Well?" snapped Carson. "What now?"
"There's going to be no sale in the morning," said Lee, and at the new
strange tone in Lee's voice Carson jerked up his head, thrusting it
forward, peering at the other through the moon-lit night.
"Say it again," muttered Carson. "Who said so? Miss Judith?"
"She isn't here," replied Lee briefly. "Hasn't been here since
Saturday night."
Now, with more cause than ever, did Carson stare at him.
"Then what did Pollock Hampton say sell for? By cripes, if this is one
of that young hop-o'-my-thumb's jokes, I'm going up to the house an'
murder him. That's all. An' right now."
Lee laid a hand on Carson's arm.
"Hold on, old-timer," he said shortly. "We'll have a talk with him
after a while. Now I want to talk with you."
Contenting himself with the coldest of brief outlines, Bud Lee told
Carson of Judith's absence and of his own suspicions. Carson, who had
listened to him gravely, at the end shook his head.
"That's a pretty bald play, Bud," he said slowly. "I don't believe
Trevors would get that coarse in his work. It doesn't look like him a
little bit."
"Does this sale look the least little bit like Judith?" demanded Lee
sharply. "Is it her style to go over our heads this way, Carson? If
she's got to sell heavily, why pick out this particular set of buyers?
Why is the deal rushed through while she's away? I tell you there's a
nigger in the wood-pile and it's up to you and me to smoke him out.
Come up to the house with me."
Marcia did not see them as they drew near in the moonlight. For, with
a plan shaping in his brain, Lee judged best that they should not be
seen. He and Carson passed in a wide arc about the left end of the
courtyard, around the end of the house and so to a door opening front
the office to the back of the house. This door he found unlocked and
pushed quietly open.
Hampton lifted swift eyes, sensing something stern and ominous in this
silent approach.
"We want to talk things over with you," began Lee.
"If you've come to bulldoze me out of that deal in the morning,"
retorted Hampton, "you might as well keep still. I'm going to sell."
"I don't know that you'd exactly call it bull-dozing," smiled Lee,
determined to be pleasant with the young fellow as long as possible.
"But you've got sense enough to listen to reason, Hampton."
"Have I?" jeered Pollock. "Thanks."
"If Miss Sanford wants the deal to go through," continued Lee, "why,
then, of course, through it goes. If she doesn't, there's going to be
no sale."
"I tell you she wired me to sell; I showed you the telegram----"
"But you didn't prove to me that she sent it. You didn't know yourself
whether it had been sent by her or Doan, Rockwell & Haight, or by Bayne
Trevors or the devil himself." He took up the telephone and said into
it, "Western Union, Rocky Bend. . . . That you, Benton? This is Lee
of the Blue Lake. We want to get in communication with Miss Judith
Sanford, somewhere in San Francisco. Send this message to every hotel
there, will you? And rush it: '_Must have word with you immediately.
Important. Telephone_.' Got it? Oh, sign it, Carson and--and Tripp.
Rush it, I tell you, Benton. And if you get in touch with Miss Sanford
in any way, tip us off here, will you? Thanks."
"She might be visiting with friends," muttered Hampton, little pleased
at the thought that Lee and Carson were seeking to rob him of his newly
acquired importance.
"Where's Mrs. Simpson?" asked Lee.
"Gone to bed," answered Hampton.
"And Miss Langworthy is still on the veranda. Now Hampton, Carson and
I want a look at Miss Sanford's room. Come with us, will you?"
"I'm damned if I will!" cried the boy hotly. "I don't know what you
are up to, but I'm boss here and I'm giving orders, not taking them.
If there's any reason in all this, I've got the right to know what it
is."
"Yes," answered Lee thoughtfully. "You've got the right. I just don't
like the looks of affairs, Hampton. I don't believe all that I hear.
I don't believe Miss Sanford sent that wire. I don't believe she is in
San Francisco. I do believe that your friend Trevors has got hold of
her somehow, and that he is playing you for a sucker. That's our
reason in this. Now will you come with us to her room?"
"Trevors?" said Hampton. Then he laughed. "You are like the rest,
Bud. Trevors is a gentleman, and you try to make him a crook. Such a
scheme as you imagine is absurd and ridiculous. And I won't go prying
with you into Judith's room."
"Come on, Carson," said Lee. "If Hampton wants to stay here, let him."
But the young fellow was on his feet, his face flushed, his eyes
excited.
"You'll get out of this house and do it quick!" he cried sharply. "If
you think for one little minute that I'll stand for your high-handed
actions, you're mistaken."
At a look from Lee, Carson stepped quickly forward, so that Hampton
stood between them.
"You come with us," and now Lee no longer sought to be pleasant. "And
keep still or we'll stop your mouth with a yard of cloth. This way,
Carson."
With right and left arms gripped, with lagging feet and furious eyes,
Hampton went between them to the door. For an instant only did he
struggle; then, with a snort of disgust, seeing the futility of making
a fool of himself, he went quietly.
Just what he expected as a result of a visit to the girl's room, Lee
did not know. He hoped for some sign to tell him something, anything.
Quietly the three went through the house until they came to Judith's
dainty blue-and-white bedroom. Here all had been set in order by Mrs.
Simpson. A great vase of rosebuds, brought by José this morning,
accepted by Mrs. Simpson with suspicion and searched carefully for a
lurking scorpion or a coiled rattlesnake, stood on a table by the
window. On entering the room a sort of awkward shyness fell over both
Lee and Carson. Hampton, freed now and standing alone, though under
Carson's hard eye, stared at them angrily.
"When you get through with this foolishness," he told them stiffly,
"you can either apologize or call for your time."
Neither answered. Carson little by little had come to share Lee's
uncertainty and anxiety; and now, like Lee, sought eagerly to find a
sign--something to tell that Judith had been lured away by Trevors or
Quinnion; or that she had been overpowered here and taken out, perhaps
through a window.
But Judith had gone Saturday night, and Mrs. Simpson had done her work
thoroughly. It might be well to call the housekeeper and question her.
Had she found a chair overturned, a rug rumpled, a table shoved a
little from its accustomed place? But, again, it would be as well not
to start suspicion and surmise in other minds; if, after all, there
were no true cause for it. Judith _might_ be in San Francisco; she
_might_ have sent the order to sell.
"Chances is we're smelling powder where there wasn't no shot," said
Carson hesitatingly.
"Bright boy!" mocked Hampton. "You'll make a great little gumshoe
artist one of these days."
Had Bud Lee not loved Judith as he did, with his whole heart and soul,
it well might have been that he and Carson and Hampton would have gone
out of the room knowing no more than when they had come in. But it
seemed to Lee that the room which knew Judith so intimately, was
seeking to open its dumb lips to whisper to him of danger to her. He
had come here troubled for her; he stood, looking about him frowningly,
his heart heavy, fear mounting within him. And at length he found a
sign.
At the far end of the room, in a corner, was Judith's writing-table, on
which were several opened letters, pen and ink, a pad of paper. Lee
stepped to it. If she had been lured away after nightfall, then some
message had come to her. If that message had come by word of mouth,
there was no need seeking it; if it had been a note, fate might have
kept it here.
Impaled on a sharp file was a sheet of note-paper. The note was brief,
typewritten, even to the signature--that of Doc Tripp. It ran: