“You don’t have to be grateful,” Dr. Dixon said. “I merely performed a medico-legal necropsy to determine the cause of death.”
“And what you found proved me innocent,” Rob reminded him.
Dr. Dixon nodded. “That’s fine as far as you’re concerned, but we have a responsibility. We have to find the real murderer.”
Rob Trenton looked at him sharply. “Any clues?” he asked.
Dr. Dixon said, dryly, “You may use your own judgment, young man. Harvey Richmond didn’t go aboard that boat voluntarily. From what you have told me and what the police have been able to find, I know that Richmond had a line on the smugglers. He had constructed a blind from which he could watch the houseboat with binoculars. He was planning to make a raid on it that night. I think he’d have had the raid sooner if the boat hadn’t been moored across the river, which put it out of the jurisdiction of the State Police.
“The smugglers happened to locate that blind. They crept up behind Richmond, rushed him and overpowered him. It’s my idea that that’s when he was hit over the head and when that blood clot formed in the skull.
“Now we can begin to fit certain things together into a pattern. You know from what you overheard the smugglers say they had planned to get this dope, to abandon the houseboat, and start a fire that would burn up all the evidence. Now suppose you quit looking at it from your angle, and consider the facts from the viewpoint of one of the smugglers.
“It obviously couldn’t have been Harvey Richmond who was running down the deck when you shot. I think Harvey Richmond was unconscious at the time. But the man you shot was running aft on the port side of the houseboat. He would, therefore, have his right side towards you and be running slightly away from you, but the bullets which penetrated his body were fired a little more from the front and they were fired at close range.
“You’ll remember that you shouted at the man on the boat to stop, and then added that he was under arrest. Then you fired twice. The man flung himself flat on the deck.
“Now suppose you had been one of the smugglers waiting on the boat. What would you have thought?”
“That it was a police raid?” Rob asked.
“Exactly,” Dr. Dixon said. “So the smugglers threw the switch that set off the incendiary device which they intended to use to start a fire in the boat and consume the evidence. Then they started to abandon the boat, but then the man who had flung himself down on the deck got to them and reported he had only seen one person. They looked for you and found you had escaped. So then they started trying to put out the fire, probably because they still had stuff they wanted to get off the boat. Before they got the fire out, Harvey Richmond, lying unconscious in a cabin probably near the bow of the boat, inhaled enough smoke and carbon monoxide to cause his death.”
“I see,” Rob said, eagerly. “Then before they abandoned the boat the smugglers fired the two bullets into his body.”
Dr. Dixon’s shrewd eyes gimleted their way into the innermost recesses of Rob’s consciousness. “Shot him with the gun you had in your possession, Rob?” he asked.
“But they must have! They... No, they couldn’t. And they couldn’t have shot him before the fire broke out because then he wouldn’t have been breathing to inhale the smoke. They...”
Dr. Dixon said, “Start using your head, Rob. Those people on the other side of the river are a little chagrined. They’re a little punch groggy from the sudden turn of events, but I think within an hour they’ll have another warrant issued for you and perhaps a new theory of approach. Remember, they still have two members of the smuggling gang who will swear to anything that’s necessary in order to gain immunity for themselves.
“Within the next hour you’ll either be under arrest again, or else be a fugitive from justice. Don’t waive extradition and return voluntarily to face that second murder charge. You sit tight on this side of the river and fight extradition every step of the way. And don’t say that I gave you that advice.
“All right, Rob, this is where you get out,” and Dr. Dixon extended his hand in farewell.
Chapter 29
Rob didn’t waste any precious minutes on Linda’s empty apartment, but took a taxicab to the courthouse in Londonwood, the county seat. He hunted up the clerk’s office and said, “I want to look up the probate record in an estate.”
“What was the name?” the clerk asked.
“The last name,” Rob said, “was Carroll, and I believe the estate was probated about four or five years ago. Aside from that I haven’t much to go on.”
“Well, we can find it,” the clerk said.
Twenty minutes later Rob Trenton was busy copying the description of three hundred and twenty acres of property, which under a decree of distribution in the estate of George Hammond Carroll had been distributed to his daughter, Linda Carroll. Immediately after doing that, Rob hurried to an agency which made a business of renting cars.
Some time later, and just as the sun was dropping behind distant rolling hills, Rob turned off the main road and rattled along a graveled roadway.
He was looking for names on the mail-boxes, but suddenly he braked the car to a stop.
From the pasture on the hill below came the sound of a musical chime, followed after a moment by another one, the second being deeper in tone, but both being mellow and musical. Swiss cowbells, arousing nostalgic memories, causing a tug at the heartstrings.
Rob Trenton found a wide place at the side of the road where he could park the car. He shut off the motor.
The cowbells were drifting up now from the hill below in musical cadences. There were four cowbells and the effect of the harmony was as pleasing to the ear as the rolling scenery was to the eye.
Rob Trenton slipped through a barbed-wire fence, crossed under some shady trees and emerged on the upper end of the pasture where the four cows were grazing contentedly.
Up in the south-west corner of the pasture on a high knoll near the road was an old-fashioned, two-story frame farmhouse built of honest oak; and from its rugged, weather-beaten appearance, it had been standing for many years.
There was no sign of life about the house and Rob Trenton took up a position near the trunk of one of the trees, where he could observe the house through the lower branches and at the same time be all but invisible to any person peering from the house windows.
The countryside seemed peaceful and contented. The musical notes of the Swiss cowbells drifted up on the calm air. The shadows deepened into dusk, and then finally into darkness.
Rob Trenton kept his position by the tree until he could see stars overhead, until the huge two-story farmhouse showed only as a dark silhouette against a slightly luminous sky.
The cows stopped grazing and with the stilling of the cowbells the countryside lapsed into impenetrable silence.
Rob Trenton left his station by the tree and moved forward cautiously along the edge of the pasture, feeling his way.
There was no sign of life in the huge farmhouse.
Under cover of darkness, Rob slowly approached the building.
He came at length to a gravel driveway where an ancient woodshed had been converted into a garage. The swinging doors were propped open, showing only an empty interior. Rob walked around to the back door of the farmhouse, stood on the back porch and listened. He could hear no sound from within.
Carefully he tried the screen door. It was hooked on the inside. By pulling gently against it, Rob was able to determine the position of the hook.
Rob’s knife cut down through the screen, just where it joined the door, making an eight-inch cut. Through this he thrust his hand and wrist, found the hook on the inside, gently lifted it, opened the door, crossed the back screen porch and gently tried the back door.