Free Reply Paid by H. F. Heard

cover and pretense—and here was I alone in the desert with the corpse of a murdered man and a lunatic playing with it. I couldn’t take my eyes off that terrible pair. But the next thing which the living did to the dead, reassured me. It was only my panic which had made me believe that he was trying to make the cadaver speak. No, he was examining not the play of the tongue but the line of the teeth. With relief, I felt sure he was looking for any dental work whereby, maybe, an identification could be made.
    â€œBut why not look at the finger marks?” I suggested, anxious to show myself that we were still the right side of sanity and, gruesome though our actual occupation was, it was really only part and parcel of a routine inspection any policeman would be expected to make.
    â€œThe skin has stretched away all its natural markings,” he said without turning round. “No, it’s here we’ll find a reference, if anywhere.”
    Curiosity overcame my disgust. I bent over his shoulder and peered into the dead man’s mouth, opened now just the way a strangled rat’s will gape. No, there was no dental plate or bridgework or indeed anything but a few noncommittal fillings and a gap or two where a few of the middle teeth had been lost.
    â€œNothing to report,” I said, glad to have joined in the inspection and not to have winced. Now, at last, we could go.
    But a last and worst shock was in store for me. Just as I thought we could leave this wretched shred of mortality under its rearranged pebbles, for some official to take or leave, I saw Mr. Mycroft, instead of putting it down, shift his hold. His left hand forced the mouth to open still wider until the horrid thing seemed laughing at us. Then quickly his right hand darted into the mouth. There was a sort of tussle which was one of the most nauseatingly ludicrous things I have ever seen—a ghastly sort of Punch and Judy act—as the thing wobbled and struggled and Mr. Mycroft wrestled and hung on. At last there was a tearing sound which really nearly made me sick. Mr. Mycroft let the corpse fall on the ground and slipped something into his pocket.
    I was so upset that when he said, “That is all we can do now. Help me, while I cover this over again with the pebbles,” that I hastily joined in scattering shingle over the withered thing (the waving arm, I’m glad to say, Mr. Mycroft made rest by putting the body face down) and followed him dumbly as we turned back toward our base.
    I think Mr. Mycroft knew I was shocked, but perhaps he was just indifferent to what I felt. Perhaps he was completely absorbed in his puzzle, treating that horrid object with the detachment I should treat such a word as cadaverine , for instance, if I knew that it was really a code-concealer. I should be quite indifferent to the fact that that word stands for one of the most terrible of stenches, and so I suppose Mr. Mycroft regarded what we had found as just so much evidential material. I was tired and really exhausted by the time we reached our base. He, with his easy reserve of energy, poured out cold coffee from the flask and offered me cigarettes though, I noticed, he did not smoke.
    â€œKerson won’t be here for another couple of hours. I didn’t expect we’d net such a fish in our first cast. It made going farther not worth while, at present.” He sat back and now was evidently enjoying the austere scenery with complete appreciation. There was nothing else to do and, with his usual power of attention, he did it.
    At last, as the pools of blue shadow began to fill up the shallow fawn-colored cups of the lake-beds, we heard the motor’s purr in the distance. Before night fell we were back in the cave camp.

Chapter IV
    Again I slept heavily, waking to find Mr. Mycroft and Kerson already bundling up all our goods. “Are we off?” was my natural but not very detectional remark. I own I woke in that mood which