Original subtitles

Oh.

Hadn't you better go help Lillian?

After all, he's thought of a relative.

In a minute.

Go see what happened, Mrs. Summers.

Yes, Mr. Branson.

What is it, Sandy? What happened? A bending grip took a hit into an

mine shaft.

Did? You ought to know better than that now.

Take more than a fall to kill a tough old mountain goat like me.

Get me off of here, Sandy.

You just wait here, Ben, and we'll get some help. Don't tell me what might be

broken. A little on my head, so how could anything be broken?

Jason, come on, let's get him upstairs.

Come on, Miss Nell.

Just take it easy. Take good care.

Seems to me, at your age, I ought to have enough pants not to go falling down

the mountain, Jack.

What did happen here?

How should I know?

You said yesterday that, um...

Mr. Grant's next step after investigating the mine that Sandy Bowen

Jim would be to investigate the gold mine you sold him.

So?

So maybe you decided it would be better if Mr.

Grant didn't report that they were worthless too.

So I shot him or something, is that it?

Look, what do I care what the old man reports?

I'm a mining broker.

But if Jim, as president of the Grant Mining Company, wants to buy worthless

mines from me, I sell them to him. There's nothing illegal in that.

Nor are you and Jim splitting the proceeds afterwards.

Well, the old man's never going to find out about that.

What is all this, Lillian?

You gave your husband the idea to begin with. It worked out just fine.

Nearly 200 ,000 so far, and more to come. Now, don't tell me you're getting

feet. Then you didn't do anything to Mr. Grant.

No, and neither did anybody else.

Oh, they're crazy.

Then why did it happen just when he started moseying around?

I couldn't talk to Mr. Grant, but they say he had an accident, that's all.

He took a tumble.

No ladder gave way and the big chance mine.

Well, I'd better see if there's anything I can do.

You wait for me? If you want.

Wasn't Mr. Brattison supposed to be here this morning?

Jim Telephone said he'd be late. Said he wanted to check on one of the new mines

he bought.

Not the big chance.

He didn't say.

I was sent here by... By... That's all right, Mr. Bowen. Mr. Street is my

confidential secretary.

Now, you were sent here by whom?

Banning Grant.

He said you knew him.

Yes, I do. Quite well.

He's sort of laid up.

He'd like for you to come to see him in Gold Gulch.

Mr. Bowen, Mr. Grant is a good friend of mine.

But I can't leave for the Mojave now, not just like that.

Tell him when he's better to come and see me.

Well, the trouble is that he's liable to get worse instead.

He's that ill?

No.

But it appears somebody's of a mind to see that he is.

Sure beats me where Sandy got a local idea like that.

Nobody's trying to kill me.

Accident, pure and simple.

No harm done, according to Doc Evans, just shaken up a little.

When was the big chance mine abandoned, Mr. Grant?

About 1932 or 3.

You have been in a mine recently, of course.

No, I haven't.

What made you ask that?

With all your experience, wouldn't you have checked the ladder carefully unless

you had reason to believe it was sound?

Well... I was wool -gathering, Mr. Mason, that's all.

Now, let's get down to business.

What I really want you for is to represent Sandy Bowen in a fraud suit.

Fraud suit?

Over the Big Chance mine.

Seems he salted it with some high -grade gold ore and then flim -flammed the

Grant Mining Company into buying it.

Now, just a minute. The Grant Mining Company is your company.

Are you trying to retain me so you can control both sides of the litigation?

No, no, it's not my company anymore.

I'm only a minor stockholder.

My late wife's son, my stepson, I guess he is technically, Jim Braddison,

he's head man now.

He's the one that got flim -flammed.

Flim -flammed.

Sounds as though you think Sandy hasn't much of a defense.

Hasn't. They got him dead to rights.

What I want you to do is settle.

Does Sandy want to settle?

Yep. I'm willing to advance whatever it takes, right up to the $5 ,000 he got.

Only don't let Brattison or his lawyer mock it. No, I'm bankrolling things, or

they'll think there's something fishy.

Is there something fishy, Mr. Grant?

You mean, why should I go to bat for Sandy?

Well, I wouldn't normally.

We're friends, even prospected together once.

But he's not what you might call an upstanding citizen.

He's been salting and selling old minds to unsuspecting folk for years.

He even tried me a couple of times.

But I was too cute for him.

I figure I owe him something.

Why? Because he may have saved your life yesterday?

One reason.

The other is that I was the one who told Brattison he'd been suckered by Sandy.

Figured he'd just ask for his money back.

But Sandy's already blown it.

Now Brattison's talking jail.

I'd like to be killed, Sandy, and I wouldn't want that.

All right.

I'll see what I can do.

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you.

Is Mr. Braddison here?

No, sir. He isn't.

Perhaps I can help, Mr. Mason.

George Moffat, company attending.

We've met before, Mr. Moffat?

Hardly. Corporation, not criminal law, is my field.

But I've seen your picture in the newspapers.

Is there something I can do?

Call off your suit against Sandy Bowen.

Oh?

In return for what, Mr. Mason?

I'm prepared to refund the purchase price of the mine your company bought

it. The entire $5 ,000?

That's right.

But where's the money coming from?

It's my understanding Bowen is broke. He spent all the money.

Does it matter where the money comes from, Mr. Moffat?

No.

I guess it doesn't.

All right, you've got a deal, Mr. Mason.

The suit is called off in return for a certified check, shall we say?

I'll have it for you later today.

That'll be fine.

And Mr. Mason?

I must say, your reputation has been greatly exaggerated.

My reputation?

As being a difficult man to come to terms with.

When the occasion requires it, Mr. Musket, I can be difficult.

Quite difficult.

Information.

The lady with you tells me you're a lawyer.

Yes, I am.

Are you representing Jim Brattison or old Mr. Grant?

Why do you ask that?

If you're representing Brattison, I think I should warn you. People here in

aren't too happy about him. Or anybody associated with him.

What would you figure has been nibbling on these ladder -cross pieces, Mr.

Mason? Termites?

Certainly not termites.

I'd say an individual with a very sharp cross -cut saw.

Then somebody really did try to kill Mr. Grant.

Well, he sure wasn't trying to improve his health, Mr. Reed.

It's funny he told you he hadn't been down to mine before.

Why?

Well, I'm right sure he had.

Now, my camp's over there.

A couple of nights ago, I saw a light here.

But it was gone when it come over.

Down in the shaft, I heard a mosquito buzzing.

Mosquito buzzing?

Yeah, that's the sound the mineral light makes.

What in the world is a mineral light?

It's a black light, Dillon.

An electrical device that prospectors use.

It sends out rays that makes any metal embedded in the rock fluoresce.

Grant's got one, too.

Might be broke up a little from the fall, but... Did you talk to Mr. Grant

this? Maybe get myself shot if it wasn't him.

No. Ask your dad.

All right, we'd better be doing the same thing.

Mr. Branson.

I'd like you to meet Mr.

Branson, our company president.

How do you do? How are you? My secretary, Mr. Reed. Mr. Branson, Mr.

Reed. Hello.

See, I have some good news for you, Mason. We're calling off the suit

Sandy Pond.

That so?

Well, we decided to let the deal stand as it is.

What made you decide that?

What made us?

In going over our financial statement, preparatory to the director's meeting,

decided that tax -wise, the write -off is worth more to us than the cash.

But dang it, Mason, that's not what I wanted.

I wanted to get a hold of...

Well, I wanted... What you wanted was to get hold of the big chance mine

yourself, Mr. Grant.

Sandy told me that you had him sign it over to you contingent upon the suit

being quashed.

Now, shouldn't you have told me what you really wanted and that there really was

an attempt made on your life?

Well, that part I don't understand.

Miss Street, would you mind handing me that duffel bag under the bed?

Oh. Big chance mine's no good of itself.

But last week, while I was prowling around the same property to see how big

job a salt and sandy had done, I found these.

Old Indian arrow.

And nearby, I found another.

A little further along, I stumbled on the start of an old shaft hidden by

about the size of a coyote hole.

And in it, I found these.

It's gold, all right.

And this old single -action colt.

The owner's name notched on the handle.

Bowler.

Oh.

That name seems familiar.

It should.

Name of one of the most famous lost mines in the country.

Old Bowler made his strike in 74.

brought in some of the richest gold ore ever assayed hereabouts, told the folks

there was a million dollars more of it back in the hills, staged a celebration,

then sneaked out of town and was never seen again.

Sandy don't know it, but right spang in the middle of the property he was

salting is the million -dollar bowl of mine that nobody's ever been able to

until now.

other answer possible.

The old boy found something while he was checking on the mine Bowen sold us.

Something big.

Now he's trying to get it for himself.

You sure it's Grant?

Oh, it can't be Bowen. He spent every cent he got from us. And the lawyer

conferred with Grant just before he made his offer.

Isn't that so now?

Yes, but it isn't like banning Grant to do anything underhanded.

Oh, don't forget. He feels we took the company away from him.

Well, didn't you? The point is...

We can't force him to tell us what he found.

Ah, but we can.

He's still a minor stockholder, so we can elect him a director.

And by law, a director must reveal anything he knows that might affect the

corporate assets.

Uh, which means we'll have him over a barrel.

Are we all in favor?

Aye.

Somers.

You know I always vote the way you say, Mr. Radisson.

Aye.

No.

Oh, I suppose I'll have to go along if it'll help the company.

Carried unanimously.

Banning grant is now directed.

Any other business?

What about the quarterly dividend?

You have our heavy responsibilities for our new properties. Any dividends out of

the question?

Don't you realize that practically every soul in town owns stock?

And they count on the income to try to make ends meet. Then they'll just have

uncount this time.

Meeting's adjourned.

Mood, the townspeople are in, thinking this is what you might do.

They just may decide to uncount you, Braddison.

And I'll be right with them.

You know, we should have voted her off the board to make way for Grant. We'll

that next time.

Well, Mr. Mason, I'm afraid you're too late.

Too late?

There's no need to play it cozy any longer, Counselor.

We know Grant has found something valuable somewhere on Bowen's ex

And we've just arranged it, so he'll have to tell us where.

How did you do that?

By voting him in as a company director.

Don't your bylaws require directors to be stockholders, Mr. Moffat?

Grant is a stockholder.

I'm afraid you're wrong about that.

He's sold his voting to me, which of course makes his election to the board

invalid.

However, if you're actually in need of another director, I'd be happy to make

myself available.

Harry, why wasn't the dividend paid?

Well, according to Grant, Brattison and the others have been bleeding the

company of its cash through phony mining deals. The broker named Hayward Small,

a gentleman whom I suspect is presently sitting with Mrs. Brattison. Well, Grant

made the mistake of giving his late wife a majority stock interest.

She made the mistake of willing it to her ne 'er -do -well son by a previous

marriage, namely one James Brattison.

Well, why didn't Mr. Grant contest the will?

Well, he didn't care at the time.

He was comfortably well off and the company was in good shape.

It was only when he realized it.

Only when he realized what?

That his gold goat's friends, whom he'd talked and cajoled into buying stock,

knowing it would take care of them, were being built.

Then he began to worry.

And so his friends are why he doesn't want the bowler mine to go to the

Yes. The ironic part is he can't tell them about it for fear Braddison will

out.

There's still one thing that isn't clear.

Why the attempt on Mr.

Grant's life?

I can think of only one possibility.

What's that?

Someone else knows where the Boulder mine is and wants to keep the

to himself.

Mr. Grant.

Harry.

It's Mr. Grant.

I thought for a minute there I was a goner.

Are you positive, Mr. Grant, you got no idea who was doing the shooting?

I already told you I hadn't.

More to the point, have you?

All I know about him is he owns a .30 -30 rifle.

At least according to these expended shells I found on the balcony where he

from. I seem to recollect you have a .30 -30, Bowen.

Sure, but still in camp.

Say, you ain't suspicioning me, are you?

I told you I was wheeling into town when the shots expired.

Let her go after the varmint load what he's up to.

Miss Street?

Well, I only caught a glimpse of the man, but I'm sure he was taller than Mr.

Bowen. All right.

Tall man with a .33 rifle.

Maybe I'll have something more in the morning.

What are you going to do, Dan?

What do you mean, what am I going to do?

If you was me, instead of playing fit and duck, I'd make myself scarce.

Well, how?

Why not hold up a me?

My camp's where nobody can get in two miles without our knowing it.

And I'll let you have keeps of the 30 -30 if you want.

What do you think, Mason?

I think it's an excellent idea.

And it fits in with something I have in mind.

Well, what's that?

Well, something which would take the pressure off you.

Permanently.

Yeah, this is Paul Drake.

Person of person from who?

Oh. Hi, Perry. What's cooking?

When did I shave last?

Yesterday morning, like always.

Don't tell me you're calling me long distance to find out... How would I like

do what?

Find a gold mine.

What's wrong next door? Where's the assay agent?

There hasn't been one here in 20 years. 20 years?

Well, how do you like that?

Me with a fine of the... Well, where do I have to go?

Bakersfield.

Only by the time you get there, the office will be closed.

You're not a prospect, are you?

No, just a weekend rockhound, that's all. Semi -precious stones, stuff like

that. But I know gold when I see it. Brother, do I know it.

Where can I get a drink?

There's a saloon in the hotel.

I'm away.

Oh, uh, could you keep this stuff of mine in that safe of yours till

I'll, uh, have to ask Mr. Bradson.

Oh, well, uh, forget it. I've been seeing too many movies. I'll probably

in the saloon anyway. Thanks a lot.

Who was that, Thomas?

A rockhound.

And I think he's found the lost bowler mine.

Whiskey. Old bottle of it. Best you got in the house.

Got cash for it, prospector? Well, I got something just as good. Here.

What would you say that?

What is it, Jason?

Gold nugget. Worth four to fifty bucks, I'd say.

I'll then start pouring.

For me and the gentleman here. All of them.

Yourself, too, if you like.

Now look what I've done.

Bowler?

Where'd you get that?

That? Oh, I bought that in a second -hand store.

Saw the name on it and thought it'd bring me luck.

Sure looks as though it had.

Could be.

Come on, drink up.

Biggest crowd since Christmas holidays.

Christmas for a lot of people if you let slippers bind you.

Jason, how about some service here?

Here. Try some of this.

Don't mind if I do.

What are you doing here?

Stop by to see how he's making out.

Where's Mr. Grant?

Back in camp. Don't worry, he's got the rap.

He's sure gonna hit the spot.

Mr. Grant?

Mr. Grant?

Well, I told you not to come out here, Summers.

Well, there's something you ought to know, Mr. Grant.

There's a rock hound in town that's found something big. Most likely the

boulder mine.

And he's staging a celebration.

Well, that doesn't surprise you?

No, because I'm paying for it.

Why? Well, I realize Paul's pretending to have also found the bowler mine is

just to protect Mr. Grant, but what if that same man should try to kill Paul?

He won't, Della.

How do you know?

Because of those bullet holes.

Harry. In here, Paul.

Well, I'm clearing out now, but don't think it hasn't been fun.

I'm sure no one followed me. Wouldn't make much difference if I was.

My camp's a good three miles from Grants.

Well, I'll be seeing you. Be careful, Paul.

Always am.

Now that the coroner's jury has been selected, there's something I'd like to

say. The county coroner and the sheriff, too, are attending a law enforcement

meeting in Salt Lake, so I've been delegated to take charge here, even if,

though, I'm only a sort of an honorary deputy coroner. It's my understanding

that a hearing like this is just to determine if the deceased James Madison

his death by accident or by intent.

And if by intent, the impairment is possible.

Person or persons responsible.

To that end, with the approval of Mr. Northridge, the assistant district

attorney, and with Mr. Perry Mason, counsel for Mr.

Grant, we're going to hear a number of witnesses.

Pretending to have found the lost bowler mine, Mr. Drake, but why were you doing

that?

Two attempts had been made on Mr. Grant's life.

Someone who'd already found the bowler mine knew that Mr.

Grant had also found it and consequently wanted to eliminate him.

So it was decided that I'd find it, too, which would make it pointless to kill

Mr. Grant.

Now, tell me what happened when you got back to camp that night.

I just climbed out of my Jeep when three shots were fired. I took cover.

Then I heard someone running away through the underbrush.

I went to my tent and found Mr. Braddison dead.

What time was this?

Exactly 11 .34 by my wristwatch.

What did you do next?

Before I could do anything, Deputy Connors drove up and took over.

No, sir. The .30 -30 rifle lying by the body wasn't the one that fired the

shots. The barrel was cold.

But you did find the rifle that had fired the shots.

Yes, in the brush about 50 feet from camp.

It was also a .30 -30.

Sandy Bowen's rifle with his name carved on the stock.

What else did you find that night, Deputy?

Mr. Grant about midway between the two camps.

We're approximately three miles apart.

What was Mr. Grant doing?

Running hard towards his camp, so I took him into custody.

You must answer, Mr. Bowen. Did you or did you not leave your rifle with Grant

when you went into town?

I, uh... I just remember.

I might have, and I might have not.

May I point out something to the witness, Mr. Shoots?

Mr. Bowen, your lack of memory may well result with your being charged with the

murder of James Braddison. How do you want that? Well, no.

Me and Dan...

Had a trouble, but we're friends.

So I hate to say this.

I did leave the rifle.

Your memory seems to have returned most conveniently, Sandy.

Perhaps now you can remember the previous night when you fired three

the same rifle at Banning Grant from across the street.

But I didn't. I told you I was just driving into town when that happened.

just approaching the Big Chance Mine when he had his fall there.

Did you engineer that, too?

Was that crosscut saw?

That's your name carved on the handle, isn't it?

Well, yes.

All right, I did so on the ladder.

But it wasn't to get banned.

Who was it to get then?

Too many fellas snooping around.

I just wanted to discourage them.

Keep them from finding out I'd salted the mine before I sold it to the grant

company.

Never occurred to me a smart old coot there like Ben wouldn't take a letter

before we went down. After I told Mr. Grant about the man supposed to have

the bowler mine, we talked for a few minutes and then I drove back to town.

What time was all this?

About 10 .30 when I left Mr. Grant and about 11 when I got back to town.

How was it, Mr. Summers, you were able to find Mr. Grant?

Go ahead.

Well, I'd been helping Mr. Grant try to get back his company, giving him

information on the deals made by Mr. Branson.

So before he left town on the night he was shot at, he told me where he'd be in

case I wanted to reach him.

And why were you, an employee of the company, helping Mr. Grant?

On account of the townspeople, Mr. Mason.

Good friends being victimized.

And Mr. Grant their only hope.

Now, could it be that night you thought of a... A quicker way of helping your

friends? By killing Mr. Brattison, you mean? Oh, no.

You knew Mr. Grant had found the lost bowl of mine, didn't you?

Yes. And didn't he tell you that night in camp what Mr. Drake was doing and

where he was camped? Yes.

And didn't you then drive there and, finding Brattison already there, use

opportunity to kill him? But I drove straight home, Mr. Mason.

Straight back to town.

And you proved that?

No, but I did.

I did.

Mr. Mason says I don't have to testify, but I want to tell my side.

First, about the rifle.

Maybe Sandy left it, but I didn't see it.

Second, the business of being between the two camps.

After Summers left, I got to thinking maybe I shouldn't have told him what

was doing or where he was camped.

Supposed to be a secret between me and Sandy.

So I set out for the other camp to wait for Drake to come back from town.

So I could tell him what I'd done.

Just about there when I heard shots.

Figured he's heading into trouble, so I turned around.

And soon after that, Deputy Connors found you.

Running because I didn't know who he was or what he was up to.

And that's it.

Not quite it, Mr. Grant.

Since the lost boulder mine appears to be the important element in all this, I

suggest you tell us where and on whose property the mine is located.

No, sir.

Bad minds are the folks here in town.

And nobody else is getting it.

Mr. Shoot.

That's not my province to make him talk if he doesn't want to.

Seems like it's getting near lunchtime. Suppose we break off until two o 'clock.

Well, what comes to the mind, Mr. Grant, if anything happens to you?

You tell Sandy a mosquito will tell him where it is.

You'll know what that means.

A little mosquito.

Grant hadn't used the old asphalt road.

His footprints would prove he never reached Drake's camp. Unfortunately, he

As apparently did Brattison and anyone else who drove or walked there since no

tire tracks or footprints have been found.

I'd say to a fair of the law doing legwork for you, Mr. Mason.

I'm afraid what I have to report is of unhelp, Mr. Grant.

All the ballistics tests are back.

And there's no doubt that Brattison was killed with Fanny Bowen's rifle.

And the shells Deputy Conner found across from the hotel, from the same

No, they were fired from Brattison's rifle.

Which gives Grant a real first -class motive.

Brattison trying to kill him.

The news I got's not so good either.

Somers is out as a suspect.

How's that?

Well, in question, as you suggested, I found that when he drove out to see Mr.

Grant, he picked up his jalopy at the local garage where he'd just been

with oil.

The speedometer reads 94 ,368 now.

And according to the garage records, it read 94 ,337 when the servicing was

done. That means he only drove 31 miles.

Enough to take him to and from Bowen's camp.

But not enough for the detour to the other camp.

He came straight back to town like he said.

Could he have done something to the speedometer?

What hasn't been tampered with is...

Rust all over a quarter -inch thick.

Good or bad news, Paul? Well, two of your hunches were right, but whether

good or bad, I wouldn't know.

I want to see when the inquest resumes.

Many thanks.

Madison first tries to meet Grant, a company director, and then shoots him.

Doesn't make sense.

Could he have learned the whereabouts of the Boulder mine in between?

We might help answer that, Della, if we could find the mine ourselves.

Let's try.

We still have an hour and a half left.

Perry, that mine's been lost for 90 years. How do you expect to find it in

hour and a half?

What is this, Paul?

Mr. Grant's little mosquito.

This is the big chance mine.

The one Sandy sold us. The poor mine can't be here.

No, but this is where Mr. Grant was going the day he fell.

The day Sandy rescued him.

All right, Paul.

Let's get going on that ladder.

How dark.

It wouldn't affect street light.

While I move this around, keep your eyes open. All right.

What is it?

What we're looking for, I think.

The arrow must point to the starting point, which would be the mine shaft to

build it.

I'm pointing in a direction about 15 degrees east of due north.

If up means north, as it should.

And the cross at the top?

El Dorado.

Lost bull in mine, Della.

Still on the right variant, Paul? Yep.

Has it occurred to either of you that the cross could be five or five hundred

miles from here, for all I told you down in the mine?

It has to be on the Big Chance property, Della. Mr. Grant told us that. He also

told... There.

That could be the brush hiding the coyote shaft, as Mr. Grant described it.

Hold it there!

Mr. Mason, how'd you get here?

I can think of a better question, Sandy.

How did you get here?

Sandy, I'd like to show you three objects.

One is your crosscut saw.

One is your rifle.

And the third is the old single -action colt Mr. Grant found in the bowl of

chaff. Now, do you see anything similar about them?

I don't know what you mean, Mr. Mason. I mean the B in Bowen on this, the B in

Bowen on this, and the B in Bowler on this.

All quite obviously carved by the same hand.

Your hand, Sandy.

Oh, yes.

I carved them all.

So then this revolver never did belong to Bowler.

Nope. And like the arrows and the old buckskin poke was planted by you on the

Big Chance property.

Yep. Why, you swindling old... Hold on a minute, Ben.

Does this mean the bowler mine hasn't been found?

That's right.

Why did you pull a stunt like that, Sandy?

Well, my old friend Ben Grant was always nosing around for proof that I'd sold

the Big Chance property before sold it to Gladys.

So I decided to sell it again, figuring if he thought the bowler mine also was

on the property that any suit against me would be called off.

Sure worked that way, didn't it, Dan?

Grant certainly didn't tell Brattison where Drake's camp was, and neither did

Sandy Bowen.

So that leaves you, Mr. Summers.

Now, when did you tell Brattison? When you got back to town?

Yes. He had found out about me helping Mr. Grant and was waiting for me with

rifle. So it was either tell him or get shot, Mr. Mason.

Did he say then that he was going out there?

He just went away.

Jim didn't tell me.

I never even saw him that night.

He told you about shooting at Mr. Grant, didn't he?

Yes.

But he wasn't trying to kill him. He just wanted to frighten him so he would

come to terms with us on his new find.

If your husband told you about that, Mrs. Braddison, he certainly would have

told you about Mr. Paul Drake.

But I didn't see Jim that night.

But I think you did.

When he told you he was going out to force Drake at gunpoint to reveal what

knew about the bowler mine, you followed.

But I didn't.

Hayward, tell him.

Tell him.

All we did was try to follow Drake.

Like everybody else in town.

And like everybody else, we lost him.

Mr. Small, the records of the Bank of Indio show a safety deposit vault shared

by you and James Brattison.

Then I'm quite sure when it's opened by the inheritance tax appraiser, it will

be found that it contains some $200 ,000 obtained by bilking the Grant Company

through fraudulent mining operations.

Now, did you think killing Brattison, perhaps with the connivance of his wife,

would give you sole possession of that money?

No, it wouldn't.

Because Moff gets in on the deal, too.

And he'd never let me get away with it.

I'm not about to testify here.

But in case you have an idea that I killed Brattison, let me straighten you

on something.

Brattison never forced Summers to tell him where Drake's camp was.

How do you know that?

On two counts.

First, he didn't have to.

Brattison found out Summers had been juggling the company's books for years.

Little sums, but enough to send him to prison. So he had him under his thumb.

And the other count?

I was the only one who didn't take out after Drake.

As a result, I was in town when Summers came in.

Not at 11, as he said, but at 12 .15.

12 .15, Mr. Summers?

That means you must have met Braddison long before getting back to town.

Now, did he wait down the road in his car while you talked to Mr. Grant?

No. And when you came and told him where Drake was camped, did he send you on

home? No.

But instead of going back to town, you followed him, didn't you?

No. Three miles there and three miles back. Why, I couldn't have walked it in

hours. You had your car.

Yes, but the speedometer.

31 miles.

Just enough to drive to Mr. Grant's camp and back. Now, you can't get around

that. Oh, but I can.

By remembering the same thing you did.

That speedometers on some cars of the vintage of yours take off mileage in

reverse.

Driving backwards, you mean?

No, no, I couldn't. I couldn't have backed up six miles in so short a time.

Not at night.

You could have driven six feet or six miles, day or night, simply by propping

the rear wheels, Mr. Summers.

Letting the engine turn them and the speedometer backwards.

What?

Recognize this?

My car jack.

Yes.

I finally figured out one thing.

What's that, Della?

How you knew Paul was in no danger.

You mean the close grouping of bullet holes in Mr. Grant's window, fired by an

excellent marksman who obviously wanted to frighten but not to kill.

There's one thing I can't understand, though.

Why Mr. Grant put his map, if you can call it that, to the Bowler Mine in the

Big Chance Mine?

Well, right after he made his discovery, someone started to follow him.

It was Sandy, of course, but Mr. Grant didn't know that, so he ducked into the

big chance.

And rather than putting the directions on paper, which could have been taken

from him, he put them on the mine shaft.

And was going back to look at them when he had his fall.

Well, I found out that he'd bought a new mosquito to replace the one that was

broken in the fall, the one you, Della, heard the night of the hotel shooting.

You began to suspect what it was for.

That's right.

One thing still puzzles me.

What was Summer's real motive?

He claims it was for the townspeople who now get their dividend.

But I think that Braddison threatening him with prison had a good deal more to

do with it.

Well, I guess that kind of wraps it up. Get in. At least I can take you back as

far as Gold Gulch.

As far as Gold Gulch? Don't tell me you're going to stay there.

Yeah, I might.

I'm kind of thinking of going into the mining business.

This morning, Sandy Bowen showed me a mine he had for sale.

Gold is lying around all over the place.