CHAPTER NINEThe Stump Lot
Gamadge, on the lookout for the branch to Pine Lots, slowed as he approached a likely-looking road on his right. A bus passed him labelled Danbury, and he heard the faint whistle of a train; the railway must be over the hill to the west.
A two-seater came down the by-road, going fast; Gamadge, waiting for it to make the turn, had a clear view of the driver’s profile; but he would hardly have recognized Mr. Paul Belden if that gentleman had not cast a momentary look at him as he flashed by. Perhaps he also recognized Gamadge, but he gave no sign of doing so—his hard, set, almost ferocious expression did not alter. It was so nearly a grimace that in the uncertain daylight it made Belden look more like a gargoyle than a man.
Gamadge watched the car streak southwar
