Cautiously Kent worked his way, now in the stream, now through the heavy growth on the banks, until he gained the roadway. Once there he went forward to the front gate of Hedgerow House. The bricked sidewalk runs, thence, straight and true to the rose-bowered square porch which is the mansion’s main entry. Kent paused for the merest moment. His gaze rested on the heavy black door. Heavier and blacker against the woodwork a pendant waved languidly in the faint breeze. To the normal human being, the grisly insignium of death over a portal is provocative of anything rather than mirth. But Chester Kent, viewing the crape on Hedgerow House, laughed as he turned to the open road. CHAPTER XIII—LOOSE ENDS Meditation furrowed the brow of Lawyer Adam Bain. Customarily an easy-minded participant in the placid affairs of his community, he had been shaken out of his rut by the case in which Kent had enlisted him, and in which he had, thus far, found opportunity for little more than thought. “Nobody vs. Sedgwick,” grumbled he. “Public opinion vs. Sedgwick,” he amended. “How’s a self-respecting lawyer going to earn a fee out of that? And Len Schlager standing over the grave of the _corpus delicti_ with a warrant against searching, so to speak, in his hand. For that matter, this Professor Kent worries me more than the sheriff.” A sharp humming rose in the air, and brought the idle counselor to his window, whence he beheld the prime author of his bewilderment descending from a car. A minute later the two men were sitting with their feet on one desk, a fairly good sign of mutual respect and confidence. “Blair?” said Lawyer Bain. “No, I don’t know him, not even to see. Took Hogg’s Haven, didn’t he?” “Then he doesn’t use this post-office?” “No. Might use any one of half a dozen. See here.” He drew a county map from a shelf. “Here’s the place. Seven railroad stations on three different roads, within ten miles of it. Annalaka would be way out of his reach.” “Yet Gansett Jim seems to be known here.” “Oh; is it Blair that the Indian works for? I never knew. Closer’n a deaf mute with lockjaw, he is. Well, I expect the reason he comes here occasionally is that it’s the nearest license town. “‘Lo! the poor Injun when he wants a drink Will walk ten miles as easy as you’d wink.’” “Do you know most of the post-offices around here?” “There isn’t but one postmaster within twenty miles that I don’t call by his first name, and she’s a postmistress.” “Then you could probably find out by telephone where the Blair family get their mail.” “Easy!” “And perhaps what newspapers they take.” “H’m! Yes, I guess so.” “Try it, as soon as you get back.” “Back from where?” “Back from the medical officer’s place. I think he must have returned by this time.” “You want to see Tim Breed?” “No; just his records. Burial permits, I suppose, are a matter of public record.” “Yes. All you’ve got to do is to go and ask for ’em. You won’t need me.”