Sanderson had not been gone from Silverthorn's office more than five
minutes when Dale entered. Silverthorn was sitting at his desk
scowling, his face pale with big, heavy lines in it showing the strain
of his interview with Sanderson.
"Bransford's been here!" guessed Dale, looking at Silverthorn.
Silverthorn nodded, cursing.
"You don't need to feel conceited," laughed Dale; "he's been to see me,
too."
Dale related what had happened on the street some time before, and
Silverthorn's scowl deepened.
"There are times when you don't seem to be able to think at all, Dale!"
he declared. "After this, when you decide to do a thing, see me
first--or Maison. The last thing we want to happen right now is to
have this fake Bransford killed."
"Why?"
"I've just got word from Las Vegas that he's submitted his affidavit
establishing his identity, and that the court has accepted it. That
settles the matter until--or unless--we can get evidence to the
contrary. And if he dies without us getting that evidence we are
through.
Pages:
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141