Yet it was not in the nature of the big miner to go at anything recklessly.  He possessed a logical mind and needed to think out clearly a course of action before putting it into execution.  This revelation had come to him suddenly, and the conclusion which he had arrived at, and expressed to the girl, was more of an inspiration than the result of calm mental judgment.  After she had disappeared on her walk back to Haskell, Westcott lit his pipe and resumed his seat on the big rock again, to think it all out in detail, and decide on a course of action.  He was surprised how swiftly and surely the facts of the case as already understood marshalled themselves into line in support of the theory he had advanced.  The careful review of all Miss Donovan had told him only served to increase his confidence that his old partner still lived.  No other conception seemed possible, or would account for the presence of Ned Beaton in Haskell, or the hurried call for Miss La Rue.  Yet it was equally evident this was not caused by any miscarriage of their original plans.  It was not fear that had led to this meeting—­no escape of their prisoner, no suspicion that their conspiracy had been discovered, no alarm of exposure—­but merely the careful completion of plans long before perfected.  Apparently every detail of the crime, which meant the winning of Frederick Cavendish’s fortune, had been thus far successfully carried out.  The money was already practically in their possession, and not the slightest suspicion had been aroused.  It had been a masterpiece of criminal ingenuity, so boldly carried out as to avoid danger of discovery.

Westcott believed he saw the purpose which had actuated the ruling spirit—­a desire to attain these millions without bloodshed; without risking any charge of murder.  This whole affair had been no vulgar, clumsy crime; it was more nearly a business proposition, cold-blooded, deliberately planned, cautiously executed.  Every step had been taken exactly in accord with the original outlines, except possibly that they had been hurried by Cavendish’s sudden determination to return West, and his will disinheriting John.  These had compelled earlier action, yet no radical change in plans, as the machinery was already prepared and in position.  Luck had been with the conspirators when Frederick called in Enright to draw up the will.  What followed was merely the pressure of his finger on the button.

Enright!  Beyond doubt his were the brains dominating the affair.  It was impossible to believe that either Celeste La Rue or Ned Beaton—­chorus girl or gunman—­could have ever figured out such a scheme.  They were nothing but pawns, moved by the hand of the chief player.  Aye! and John Cavendish was another!

The whole foul thing lay before Westcott’s imagination in its diabolical ingenuity—­Enright’s legal mind had left no loophole.  He intended to play the game absolutely safe, so far, at least, as he was personally concerned.