“’Twasn’t me as found them,” was the quick reply. “Ginger found them. He nosed them out. He’s got a scent like a bull moose in the hunting season. I pulled them out from under a log and some underbrush, after Ginger found them.” “How long ago was that?” asked Nick. “Less than half an hour.” “And how far from here?” “Less than a mile. I reckoned a murder----” “One moment,” Nick interposed. “What is your name?” “Pete Henley. I live off yonder in the crossroad a piece. I was gunning for birds around the pond when I struck this sort of game.” “Did you find any other evidence of a murder?” “That’s what,” nodded Henley. “Blood on the grass and bushes. Some are trampled down, and a lot of footprints and heel holes in the ground point to an ugly fight.” “I see,” Nick said gravely. “That does look bad.” “I did not wait to hunt for the girl’s body,” Henley went on, with grim glibness. “It might be in the pond. I reckoned I’d better rush these things to Bailey, the constable, and then show him where Ginger found them.” Nick was quick to notice that the man invariably attributed the discovery to his dog, rather than taking it upon himself, from which there appeared to be only one logical deduction--that Henley had some covert reason for doing so. “You can do better, Mr. Henley, than take these to the constable,” said Nick, who had merely glanced at the bloodstained articles. “How’s that?” questioned Henley. “I am a New York detective, Nick Carter, and I am already investigating the disappearance of the two persons you claim to have seen last evening,” Nick explained agreeably. “The man is Arthur Gordon, the banker, and the girl is his stenographer, Pauline Perrot. She is known to have worn a hat and jacket like these yesterday afternoon. Besides, her initials are on the handkerchief.” Henley’s jaw sagged perceptibly when he heard the detective’s name. “I dunno about that,” he demurred. “D’ye mean you want me to go with you?” “Certainly,” said Nick, in friendly fashion. “I would not permit Constable Bailey to interfere with my work on the case. I never allow anything of that kind.” “But he might----” “Never mind Bailey,” Nick insisted. “I will take charge of these articles, and I may want you to aid me further. So get into the car with us, Henley, and go to the Gordon place. There will be something in it for you, if you help us solve this mystery. There is room for your dog, also. Tumble in with him.” “I dunno----” “Nonsense! You want to see justice done, don’t you?” Nick demanded. “If you don’t----” “Yes, yes, sure,” Henley now cried, as if suddenly hit with an idea that a persistent refusal would occasion suspicion. “That’s just what I want. That’s why I was hiking to see the constable. But I’ll go with you, Mr. Carter, and later will show you where Ginger found these things, if you say so.” “That’s precisely what I want, Mr. Henley.”