The Daily Alaska empire., 1932-07-13
CHAPTER 24.
 FOOTPRINTS

fOOIPhINIS
 NO gun on him, eh?" Stevens voice was almost casual
 NO, nor ammunition either, . declared the guard.
 Huh" The detective scratched himself in melancholy meditation Sort of upsetting, having some one running around with a craze for cutting peoples threats. AL ready there's $150,000 of our re- ward plumb out of sight. Don't see how we can collect on Will Hams, now. And if we aren't care ful, there1l be others get it, too. !"
 It was one of the men in the house." stated Ashwood positively. My men are tough, but they aren't cutting throats. If they wanted to kill, they have guns"
 "Uh, huh" Stevens was non commital. Well, there ought to be some tracks about"
 The cripple snapped on the searchlight and the three cut a wide circle about the body. At last they picked up trail, a sin gle pair of tracks which led through the sand and the saw grass directly to the house.
 Did you walk here?" demanded Ashwood of the guard
 NO, boss, cut around to the right, here"
 Stevens Strolled over in the di- rection indicated and proved the accuracy of the guards statement. Then he returned to the suspect ed footprints and examined each of them minute1y as the three worked their slow way to thl house.
 No use" mourned the detective when they had almost reached the porch steps. We can't tell a thing. This sands loose as dry ashes. Can't tell whether these prints are from a number seven shoe or a twelve. Let's see if he went through the living room or into a window"
 The tracks led directly to the porch steps A few grains of sand made a faintly distinguishable path on the fibre rag of the living room but they did not extend into the hall. Nor was there any way of being certain that the outside guard had not brought the sand in when 1 he had come to give the alarm.
 Let's have a drink, Steve" sug- gested Ashwood, pressing a but ton. Tn the morning I'll search the house until needle couldn; remain hidden in mattress. We will turn up that gun and ther decide what to do with the mar who has it."
 The steward, Alfred, appeared as neat and efficient as though he were just coming on duty aftel a full nights sleep. Ashwood gavt his order.
 "Tell you what I'll do, Limpy, said the detective slyly. "Ill matcf you for the gun"
 Ashwood looked at him.
 "Uh, huh," repeated Stevens comfortably. 'I1l match you fo it. You reed it to prevent you prisoners from getting loose o knocking each other off. I nee, it as sort of key to get out O here myself"
 The cripple watched Alfred plac a heavily loaded tray on the ta ble. He poured out two stiff higl balls with methodical care an passed one to the detective.
 Do you know where that gul is. Steve?" Ashwood's face was SC in deep lines as he studied tn untroubled countenance of the oth CT.
 NO, not yet, beyond the fac that the murderer has cached away where we can't find it an he can"
 "All right, boss, who is the mur derer? Mallory? Lucci?"
 The cripple's thin fingers drum med restlessly against the froste tumbler. Stevens shook his glas to cool the highball more swift. That's up to both of us to fin out" he said after a satisfyin taste of the excellent wf1iskey. got a hunch that if we don't fin out pretty soon, he's going rigf on enjoying his killing jab. "Bt