"There is Luray," I said, pointing with my whip to the scattered¹ houses of the village as they lay in the valley at our feet.  
Terry stretched out a hand and pulled the horses to a standstill.
 
"Whoa, just a minute till I get my bearings. Now, in which direction is the cave?"
 
"It extends all along underneath² us. The entrance is over there in the undergrowth about a mile to the east."
 
"And the woods extend straight across the mountain in an unbroken line?"
 
"Pretty much so. There are a few farms scattered in."
 
"How about the farmers? Are they well-to-do around here?"
 
"I think on the whole they are."
 
 
"Which do they employ mostly to work in the fields, negroes or white men?"
 
"As to that I can't say. It depends largely on circumstances. I think the smaller farms are more likely to employ white men."
 
"Let me see," said Terry, "this is just about planting time. Are the farmers likely to take on extra men at this season?"
 
"No, I don't think so; harvest time is when they are more likely to need help."
 
"Farming is new to me," laughed Terry. "East Side problems don't involve it. A man of Mose's habits could hide pretty effectually in those woods if he chose." He scanned the hills again and then brought his eyes back to the village. "I suppose we might as well go on to the hotel first. I should like to interview some of the people there. And by the way," he added, "it's as well not to let them know I'm a friend of yours—or a newspaper man either. I think I'll be a detective. Your young man from Washington seems to have made quite a stir in regard to the robbery; we'll see if I can't beat him. There's nothing that so impresses a rural population as a [Pg 287]detective. They look upon him as omnipotent³ and omniscient⁴, and every man squirms before him in the fear that his own little sins will be brought to light." Terry laughed in prospect⁵. "Introduce me as a detective by all means!"
 
"Anything you like," I laughed in return. "I'll introduce you as the Pope if you think it will do any good." There was no keeping Terry suppressed, and his exuberance⁶ was contagious⁷. I was beginning to feel light-hearted myself.
 
The hotel at Luray was a long rambling⁸ structure which had been casually⁹ added to from time to time. It was painted a sickly, mustard yellow (a color which, the landlord assured me, would last forever) but it's brilliancy was somewhat toned by a thick coating of dust. A veranda¹⁰ extended across the front of the building flush with the wooden side-walk. The veranda was furnished with a railing, and the railing was furnished at all times of the day—except for a brief nooning from twelve to half-past—with a line of boot-soles in assorted¹¹ sizes.
 
We drew up with a flourish before the wooden steps in front of the hotel, and I threw the lines to the stable boy who came forward to receive us with an amusing air of importance. His connection with the Luray tragedy conferred a halo of distinction, and he realized the fact. It was not every one in the neighborhood who had had the honor of being cursed by a murderer. As we alighted Terry stopped to ask him a few questions. The boy had told his story to so many credulous¹² audiences that by this time it was well-nigh unrecognizable. As he repeated it now for Terry's benefit, the evidence against Radnor appeared conclusive¹³. A full confession¹⁴ of guilt¹⁵ could scarcely have been more damning.
 
Terry threw back his head and laughed.
 
"Take care, young man," he warned, "you'll be eating your words one of these days, and some of them will be pretty hard to swallow."
 
As we mounted the steps I nodded to several of the men whom I remembered having seen before; and they returned an interested, "How-dy-do? Pleasant day," as they cast a reconnoitering glance at my companion.
 
 
"Gentlemen," I said with a wave of my hand toward Terry, "let me introduce Mr. Terence Kirkwood Patten, the well-known detective of New York, who has come down to look into this matter for us."
 
The chairs which were tipped back against the wall came down with a thud, and an awed¹⁶ and somewhat uneasy shuffling¹⁷ of feet ensued.
 
"I wish to go through the cave," Terry remarked in the crisp, incisive¹⁸ tones a detective might be supposed to employ, "and I should like to have the same guide who conducted Mr. Crosby the time the body was discovered."
 
"That's Pete Moser, he's out in the back lot plowin'," a half dozen voices responded.
 
"Ah, thank you; will some one kindly¹⁹ call him? We will wait here."
 
Terry proceeded with his usual ease to make himself at home. He tipped back his hat, inclined his chair at the same dubious²⁰ angle as the others, and ranged his feet along the railing. He produced cigars from various pockets, and the atmosphere became less strained. They were beginning to realize that detectives are made of the same flesh and blood as other people. I gave Terry the lead—perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he took it—but it did not strike me that he set about his interviewing in a very business-like manner. He did not so much as refer to the case we had come to investigate, but chatted along pleasantly about the weather and the............