Spade nodded. “I’ve seen Webley-Fosberys,” he said without interest, and then

spoke rapidly: “He was shot up here, huh? Standing where you are, with his back

to the fence. The man that shot him stands here.” He went around in front of Tom

and raised a hand breast-high with leveled forefinger. “Lets him have it and

Miles goes back, taking the top off the fence and going on through and down till

the rock catches him. That it?”

 

“That’s it,” Tom replied slowly, working his brows together. “The blast burnt

his coat.”

 

“Who found him?”

 

“The man on the beat, Shilling. He was coming down Bush, and just as he got here

a machine turning threw headlights up here, and he saw the top off the fence. So

he came up to look at it, and found him.”

 

“What about the machine that was turning around?”

 

“Not a damned thing about it, Sam. Shilling didn’t pay any attention to it, not

knowing anything was wrong then. He says nobody didn’t come out of here while he

was coming down from Powell or he’d’ve seen them. The only other way out would

be under the billboard on Stockton. Nobody went that way. The fog’s got the

ground soggy, and the only marks are where Miles slid down and where this here

gun rolled.”