Events had taken an odd turn. No sooner had d**k Stocker identified the victim from a photograph than Wallace Lambert had proved the identification worthless. More than that, of course, was the disclosure that Lambert had been carrying about with him valuable information in the amazing disappearance of a prominent individual for whom the police of the nation had searched in vain. The incredible fact was that Lambert had kept still through some three months of almost daily reference in the press to the missing man, remaining silent even when within the past two weeks he had received a note from him arranging a meeting in Death Valley.
Morris Pine came up as we climbed into the car in front of park headquarters and stood looking in at us.
“Hunt,” he began, addressing Rogers, a serious expr
