“Has this been a habit of Thorpe?” “Playing cards there? Oh, yes, regular thing. Genial fellow, Dick--and everybody likes him. It came cold soon after midnight, and his mare, being under cover, he didn’t like to expose her. She’d been sick for a week back, and that was her first time out. So he stayed at the tavern until morning.” “I see,” nodded Keene. “Then Mrs. Haynie and the stableman were here alone all night?” “That’s about the size of it. Darbage was at the tavern, and he stayed there until daybreak, when he came up here and slept in the stable, for fear the old man would hear him enter the house. He was some slued, I reckon; but, Lord save us! Moore was past hearing long afore that. Joe Darbage might just as well have tumbled into his own bed.” “Do you know who last saw Mr. Moore alive, constable?” inquired Keene, who had received, with a series of little nods, the information thus far imparted. “Mrs. Haynie was the last who saw him.” “Do you know at what time?” “About nine o’clock last night.” “Was he up?” “No, he was in bed. She went in to look to his fire, and to see if he was all right.” “That was after Thorpe and the stableman went to the road house, was it?” “Long after! Thorpe left here about seven o’clock, and Joe went a little later. Lord, sir, nobody will ever think of suspecting either of them! But there’s a sartin man who don’t stand so well here, and some things p’ints strong agin’ him,” Mr. Bragg added, in lower tones. “Now, this is all atween us, mind you.” “You can depend upon me, constable,” said Keene assuringly. “This information will not go farther than to Mr. French. It will be of great help to him in the case, and we’ll not forget it. What man do you mean?” “Young Bob Jeffrey,” whispered Mr. Bragg, with mysterious significance. “You mean Mabel’s husband?” “Sure thing! Since their marriage he has been dead nuts agin’ the old man, and talks pretty rough agin’ him. More’n that, sir, he’s been drinking more’n is good for him, and using his tongue too freely. I reckon he’ll have a hard time telling where he was till midnight last night.” “What sort of a man is this Jeffrey?” “Well, sir, he’s a hot-headed---- Say, there’s the coroner, now! I’ll have to quit you right here, sir, for I’ve a word for him alone.” “Many thanks for this, however, Constable Bragg,” said Keene, extending his hand. “That’s all right, lawyer!” exclaimed Mr. Bragg, with a growl of friendly appreciation. “But all this is atween us, mind you.” “I will not forget it.” “And I reckon I can let you into something more a little later. Leave it to me.” And the burly constable wiped the frozen moisture from his bushy black mustache and beard, and hustled around the corner of the house. TO BE CONTINUED. THE GREAT SALT BEND.