“I calc’late so. There’d be a lot of cases. I’d run my car into the shed, and go in, and when I come back she’d be packed.” “What others went there?” “Different ones. Folks buyin’ private. Peewee he’d telephone folks he knowed was buyin’ and they’d drive out and leave their cars a-standin’. When they come ag’in, there’d be the whisky. They wouldn’t never see who put it there.” “Who did you sell to?” “I don’t want to tell.” “You’ve got to tell.” He moaned, and then, surrendering utterly, gave her a list of his customers. “Who did you pay money to?” she asked. “Peewee.” “Anybody else?” “Jest him.” “Who else did you see at the Lakeside Hotel when you went to get whisky--who else was selling besides Peewee?” “I never saw anybody.” “Did you ever see Deputy Jenney there?” Lancelot’s face turned more ashen. “I never see him. I dunno nothin’ about him.” “You’ve heard he was in it?” “Jest whispers. But nothin’ I can say.” “When was the last time you got whisky?” He gave her the date, which coincided with her finding of the _cache_ in the woods. “When do you expect to go again?” He hesitated. “I---- A feller come to-day. Said I could run out to-night. Said the’ was a special-sized shipment comin’....” “To-night?” “To-night.” “Is that all you know?” “Every last thing.” “Very well, then. Come with me.” “Where?... You promised----” “I’ll keep my promise. Just to my office. Please hurry.” He followed her with docility, sat by while she put his confession into type, signed it, and accompanied her to a notary, where he took his oath to the truth of the statements therein contained. “Now,” said Carmel, “I guess you’d better be moving along toward the distance.” Lancelot, in abject terror, started for the door, but Carmel arrested him. “Wait,” she said, and from its hiding place in her desk she took the match box made from a brass shell which she had found beside the whisky _cache_. She held it before Lancelot’s eyes. “Whose is this?” she asked. “B’longs to Deputy Jenney,” he said. “Ol’ Slim Toomey made it fer him out of a shell.” CHAPTER XXI “Hasn’t Mr. Pell come in yet?” Carmel called to Tubal. “Hain’t seen hide nor hair of him since last night.” “Did he say anything about staying away?” “Not a word. Mos’ likely he’s all het up learnin’ the Chinee language backward, or suthin’, and clean forgot the’ _was_ sich a thing as a paper.”