"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 bum 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 fiat 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 1 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 TWENTY-NINE

  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, "1 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 1 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 gravelled 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-storey frame farmhouse built of honest oak; and from its ragged, 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-storey farmhouse showed only as a dark silhouette against a sligh'ly luminous sky.

  The cows stopped grazing and with the stilling of the cowbells the countryside lapsed into impenetrable silence.

  Rob Trenton left his s'ation by the tree and moved forward cautiously along the edge of the pasture, feeling his way

  There was no sign of life in the hu.^e farmhouse.

  Under cover of darkness Reb slowly approached the building.

  He came ai 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.

  It was locked from the inside.

  Rob took a small flashlight from his pocket, pushed his handkerchief under the door. Pulling straws from a broom on the screen porch he was able to spread the handkerchief out on the inner side of the door. There was a large crack at the bottom of the door, sufficient, Rob felt certain, to suit his purpose.

  Using the small fountain-pen flashlight to guide his operations, he inserted the point of his knife in the lock and manipulated the key until it was in a straight up-and-down position. Then he pushed with the point of his knife, and heard the key drop on the inside of the door. He gently pulled his handkerchief towards him, and had the satisfaction of feeling the key slide along on the handkerchief.

  As soon as Rob's flashlight glinted on a bit of metal under the door, he slipped the blade of his knife through the crack, pressed down on the key, and then by pulling at the same time on both the penknife and the handkerchief, pulled the key through from the underside of the door.

  After that it was a simple matter to insert the key in the lock, gently turn it; open the door and step inside.

  Rob's small flashlight sent an exploratory beam around the kitchen. He moved quietly across the kitchen to a door which led to a back stairway leading to the upper rooms.

  Rob inched his way up these stairs, keeping well over to the sides to avoid creaking boards.

  Once in the upper corridor, he paused to reconnoitre.

  He dared not use his flashlight now, but inched his way down the corridor, listening for any sound which would indicate human occupancy, and listening in vain. The big house was silent as a cave. Rob could hear only his own breathing and the pounding of his heart.

  Midway down the corridor for the first time doubt stabbed Rob Trenton's mind with a dagger of discouragement.

  Quite apparently the house was empty. The chain of reasoning on which Rob had staked everything must have somewhere in it a weak link which made it fail to hold. And because Rob knew he was working against time, that every minute was precious, his failure could become all the more cause for bitter self-reproach.

  Standing there in the corridor of the deserted farmhouse, Rob checked over in his mind the various mental stepping stones which had led him here. He could find nothing wrong with any of them, yet the fact remained he had apparently followed his reasoning to a entirely erroneous conclusion.

  Then suddenly as he stood there, his nostrils detected the odour of fresh tobacco smoke.

  There was no faintest sound, no ribbon of light coming under any of the doors which opened on the corridor, no other sign of human occupancy, but plainly and unmistakably the fresh tobacco smoke indicated someone had just lit a cigarette.

  Rob felt his skin crawling with nervous suspense. His mouth felt dry. His heart began to pound.

  He moved slowly, cautiously down the corridor, trying to find the room from which the tobacco smoke was coming.

  The aroma of the fragrant tobacco was all through the corridor now. It seemed impossible to trace it to any one particular source. Then, so suddenly that it startled Rob, he heard the sound of a woman's voice, a voice that apparently was asking some question.

  It was a man who answered, and the answer was evidently in the negative, a rumbling, gruff few words which effectively silenced any further conversation.

  Rob moved forward, so anxious now to test the accuracy of his conclusions that he forgot to keep to the side of the corridor, away from the possibility of creaking boards.

  One of these boards creaked under his weight and the sound was so sharp in that silence that it frightened Rob into jumping quickly to one side.

  For a moment there was that tense silence which precedes dramatic, drastic action.

  Then Rob heard the sound of a chair scraping back.

  A woman screamed, "Look out!"

  A man's heavy voice muttered a threat, a door swung open, and Rob found himself dazzled by the blinding glare of a flashlight which was shining full on his face.

  For a moment sheer surprise robbed the man who was holding the flashlight of the power to take action.

  Rob took advantage of that split second of frozen immobility. Despite the fact that his eyes were so dazzled he could see nothing, he lowered his head, charged, and after three running steps flung himself forward in a football tackle.

  Above him, a long, spitting, orange-blue flash of flame was followed by the roar of a revolver, then Rob had his arms around the man's legs. He crashed into him in the most approved tirk'ing style and the two men went down with a fall that jarred the house. The flashlight fell from the manfe hand, rolled over for half a dozen lopsided turns, then came to rest with its beam illuminating the opposite wall of the corridor, sending back a reflected light which furnished a dim, weird illumination. By this light, Rob was able to recognise the features of the man whom he had heard called Rex, the one with whom he had had the fist fight on the houseboat. The fact that one of the man's eyes was swollen almost shut and badly discoloured somehow gave Rob a feeling of confidence.

  They wrestled around on the floor of the hallway in a sudden mad scramble, Rob fighting for either a good hold or a knock¬out punch, Rex pushing himself clear, trying to get room to use his right arm.

  Rob caught the glint of light on blue steel and grabbed for the gun.

  He missed and flung himself to one side. The gun roared, and even in the heat of the combat, Rob's keyed-up senses took note of the chunk knocked from the ceiling, felt the small particles of powdered plaster raining down on his head.

  He ran his hand along the hot barrel of the gun, shoved two fingers in between trigger and trigger guard, effectively jamming the mechanism of the double-action revolver.

  The man wrestled and pulled, trying to work the trigger of the gun. He was not able to pull the trigger as long as Rob's finger kept it from moving back far enough to cause the double-action mechanism to function.

  Rex freed his left hand, rained blows on Robs head. Rob, still hanging on to the gun, jerked his head forward blindly, and the impact of the top of his head smashing against the other man's features all but stunned him.

  However, the blow did the trick. Rex released his grasp on the revolver and Rob jerked it out of his hand

  Then of a sudden the house was filled with running steps, with voices that were shouting, with the shrill of police whistles.

  Too late, Rob sensed Rex's intention. He tried to dodge, but the heel of the man's shoe crashed into his jaw.

  Rob was conscious of flinging his left arm over and around, locking the leg, holding the foot under him. He felt a black wave of nausea but hung on to the man's foot and leg with dogged persistence and kept a firm grip on the gun with his right hand.

  Some unconscious inhibition kept him from using the gun, even when the man freed his right foot and poised it for another kick.

  At that moment Rob's head cleared slightly. He raised the gun and brought the banel down sharply on his antagonist's knee.

  He heard a yell of agony and then flashlights were in the corridor like fireflies in the trees in summer. Men seemed to be all around him, business-like, uniformed men who knew exactly what to do and how to do it.

  Rob felt himself jerked to his feet. The gun was yanked from his hand with an expert twist which came as such a surprise that the gun was gone even before he realised the importance of hanging on to it. Someone said, "He's all right," and Rob was pushed to one side.

  He heard a vicious string of oaths from Rex, the sound of a blow and then the click of handcuffs.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Di Dixon's voice came out of the darkness, "Are you hurt?"

  Rob's own voice sounded strange to him, "I guess I'm a little

  g^ggy"

  , "Come in here."

  There were lights now and Rob was in a bedroom, plainly but comfortably furnished.

  In a chair by a window, her hands tied behind the back of the chair, was Linda Carroll. Her ankles were tied to the legs of the chair, and Rob was conscious of the pallor of her face.

  "Rob. Oh, Rob!" she said, and then was silent.

  Lieutenant Tyler clicked on more lights.

  Moose Wallington wrapped his big hand around the arm of the prisoner, said, "Don't start anything now. You might get hurt."

  Dr Dixon, moving across the room, said, "It's all right, Miss Carroll," and stooped to untie the knots which held her ankles to the legs of the chair. A moment later, he had brought out his knife and quickly cut the bonds which tied her wrists. "How are you? All right?"

  "Yes," she said. "I ..." She laughed nervousiy, became silent.

  Dr Dixon said, "We're State Police. Would you care to tell us ..."

  "1 have nothing to say."

  Dr Dixon's face darkened. "You can't afford to adopt that attitude, Miss Carroll. After all, it was your car that was used for smuggling."

  "I'm sorry, I have nothing to say. There's no statement I care to make."

  Rob stepped forward. "I think I can tell you all the essential facts," he said.

  Dr Dixon cocked a quizzical eyebrow at him, said, "The State Police were under orders to follow you when I let you out of my car. You probably didn't know you were being shadowed, but you seemed to know just where to go and just what to do whei you got here."

  Rob, somewhat crestfallen, said, "1 suppose 1 should have'1, confided in the police."

  "You didn't need to," Dr Dixon said with a smile. "1 think we know pretty generally what happened. 1 think our reasoning parallels yours, Rob, but I don't know how you knew about this place and what you were going to find here."

  Rob said, "After all, it's rather simple. There had to be some woman involved. Some woman who knew the people at that Swiss inn Some woman who could count on easy access to the Rapidex sedan, I knew it wasn't Linda Carroll. There was only one other person it could have been, Linda Mae. She locked up the desk that had the gun in it and gave a key to Ostrander. She always referred to it as the key, but it's quite reasonable to suppose that there were two keys to that desk."

  "Of course there were," Dr Dixon said. "It's the only explanation. I can appreciate that Miss Carroll dislikes to testify against, her own family but I think it will simplify matters if she'll tell her story."

  "Al! right," Linda said dispiritedly. "I guess there's no use trying to conceal things any longer.

  "My aunt has always been eccentric and decidedly unconventional. She has a certain amount of talent but a limited imagination. She can paint like nobody's business, but she has a hard time finding things to paint.

  "A year ago when she was over in Switzerland she found a very fine painting by some little-known Swiss artist. A painting of dawn on a lake, with a campfire by the lake and the smoke coming up in a straight shaft and then spreading out into a long, hazy cloud.

  "Well, Linda Mae simply stole that picture. That is, she didn't touch the painting itself, but she studied the composition, the colouring and the general theme of the painting. Then she came home and duplicated it and it was sold to a calendar company. That was her undoing, because the calendar attracted so much attention and was so popular that eventually a copy found its way into Switzerland and ... well, the thing was hushed up, but people who were in a position to make or break an artist's reputation learned about it.

  "That was a terrific blow to Aunt Linda Mae. She was all set to really capitalise on the reputation that painting had made for her. I can appreciate something of the shock and how it must have thrown her off balance. She went to Europe. At the time I didn't suspect a thing, but suddenly Aunt Linda Mae became exceedingly affluent. I suspected there might have been some smuggling, although 1 had absolutely no idea it could have been anything like drugs. 1 was thinking entirely in terms of jewellery.