The money was to go legally to John without the shadow of a suspicion resting upon it; and then—­well, he knew how to do the rest; already he had a firm grip on a large portion.  Yes, all this was reasonably clear; what remained obscure was the fate of Frederick Cavendish.

Had they originally intended to take his life, and been compelled to change the plan?  Had his sudden, unexpected departure from New York, on the very eve possibly of their contemplated action, driven them to the substitution of another body?  It hardly seemed probable—­for a man bearing so close a resemblance could not have been discovered in so short a time.  The knowledge of the existence of such a person, however, might have been part of the original conspiracy—­perhaps was the very basis of it; may have first put the conception into Enright’s ready brain.  Aye, that was doubtless the way of it.  Frederick was to be spirited out of the city, accompanied, taken care of by Beaton or some other murderous crook, and this fellow, a corpse, substituted.  If he resembled Frederick at all closely, there was scarcely a chance that his identity would be questioned.  Why should it be—­found in his apartments?  There was nothing to arouse suspicion; while, if anything did occur, the conspirators were in no danger of discovery.  They risked a possible failure of their plan, but that was all.  But if this was true what had since become of Frederick?

Westcott came back from his musings to this one important question.  The answer puzzled him.  If the man was dead why should Beaton remain at Haskell and insist on Miss La Rue’s joining him?  And if the man was alive and concealed somewhere in the neighbourhood, what was their present object?  Had they decided they were risking too much in permitting him to live?  Had something occurred to make them feel it safer to have him out of the way permanently?  What connection did Bill Lacy have with the gang?

Westcott rose to his feet and began following the trail up the canon.  He was not serving Cavendish nor Miss Donovan by sitting there.  He would, at least, discover where Lacy was and learn what the fellow was engaged at.  He walked rapidly, but the sun was nearly down by the time he reached the mouth of his own drift.

While waiting word from the East which would enable him to develop the claim, Westcott had thought it best to discontinue work, and hide, as best he could, from others the fact that he had again discovered the lost lead of rich ore.  To that end, after taking out enough for his immediate requirements in the form of nuggets gathered from a single pocket, which he had later negotiated quietly at a town down the railroad, he had blocked up the new tunnel and discontinued operations.  He had fondly believed his secret secure, until Lacy’s careless words had aroused suspicion that the latter might have seen his telegrams to Cavendish.  His only assistant, a Mexican, who had been with him for some time, remained on guard at the bunk-house, and, so far as he knew, no serious effort had been made to explore the drift by any of Lacy’s satellites.  Now, as he came up the darkening gulch, and crunched his way across the rock-pile before the tunnel entrance, he saw the cheerful blaze of a fire in the Mexican’s quarters and stopped to question him.