“I guess that’s up to the authorities,” said the detective coolly. “I’m here to boss the job, that’s all.” “You won’t find anything.” Mr. Malone grinned. “Exactly what those two old codgers out there on the sidewalk said to me not ten minutes ago.” That afternoon the sheriff and the prosecuting attorney stopped electioneering long enough to pay a hasty visit to Rumley. They found Oliver waiting for them at his home. “Of course, Mr. Baxter,” said the prosecutor, “you have a right to refuse to answer every question I put to you. So far as I am concerned, I merely intend to examine you as I would examine any disinterested witness. As I say, you may decline to answer.” “I will answer any question you may choose to put to me, Mr. Johnson.” The sheriff interposed. “Better have your lawyer here, Baxter. I am obliged to warn you that anything you say may be used against you in case—er—in case—” “I understand. In case I am charged with crime.” “Exactly,” said the sheriff. “You can refuse to answer on the ground that it may tend to incriminate you,” explained the prosecutor. “I have consulted a lawyer,” said Oliver. “He advises me to help you in every way possible, Mr. Johnson. He wanted to be here this afternoon, but I told him I knew of no surer way to incriminate myself than to hire a lawyer to see that I didn’t. Go ahead; ask all the questions you like. No one wants to see this mystery cleared up more than I do.” Half an hour later, the sheriff looked at his watch and reminded his companion that they would be late for the meeting at Monrovia if they didn’t start at once—and off they sped in haste. Detective Malone and his partner, who had joined the county officials at the Baxter house, remained behind. They were smoking Oliver’s cigars. “How long do you figure it will take you, Mr. Malone, to finish up the job?” inquired the young man. Malone squinted at the tree-tops. “Our instructions are to work slowly and surely. We are not to leave a stone unturned. It may take six or eight weeks.” “In other words, you are not expected to be through before election day.” “Unless we find what we are after before that time, Mr. Baxter,” said the other. He had been out at the back of the house, surveying with his eye the stretch of swamp land. “It is a big job, as you can see for yourself. Like looking for a needle in a haystack, eh, Charlie?” His partner nodded his head in silent assent. “We’ll go out and take a walk around the swamp to-morrow,” said Malone. “If you’ve got the time to spare, Mr. Baxter, you might stroll out with us now to the place where you last saw your father. That will have to be our starting point. Then I’ll want to question your servants. It seems that he is supposed to have come home to change his clothes after he said good-by to you.”