In less than half an hour the lights of an automobile turned off from the highway and came up the grade toward park headquarters, while we waited wondering what the manager of the hotel at Death Valley Junction had to tell us. The dark, dapper young man, looking as if he were about to take charge of the floor show in a night club, came into the superintendent’s office, walking with a brisk, confident step. He greeted us with an air of knowing something important, and was introduced to Turner.
“From Detroit?” Long questioned, still shaking the detective’s hand. “The Austin case has brought you out?” His voice was charged with a subtle excitement.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“Wait and hear what I have to tell you,” Long advised. He glanced about the room. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” h
