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Updated: July 28, 2025
I have always had an interest in cases of this sort, and when I heard of yours in the train, coming here, I received an impression then which has been strengthened on my arrival in Grayville. I believe you are innocent." The boy looked up. A sudden flash of gratitude, almost of hope, appeared in his eyes. "I am!" he cried. "God knows I didn't kill Bill Wofford.
The candidate and his company were due one night at Grayville, a brisk Colorado town, dwelling snugly in the shadow of high mountains and hopeful of a brilliant future, based upon the mines within its limits and the great pastoral country beyond, as any of its inhabitants, asked or unasked, would readily have told you.
The man Williams threw his arm before his face, as if to protect himself, and, with a terrible cry, "Yes, I did it!" fell in a faint on the floor. They were all on the train the next day, and Harley was reading from a copy of the Grayville Argus an account of Boyd's release and the ovation that the people had given him. "How did you trace the crime to Williams, Hobart?" asked Harley.
The next day was a break in the great campaign. Owing to train connections, which are not trifles in the Far West, it was necessary, in order to complete the schedule, to spend an idle day at some place, and Grayville had been selected as the most comfortable and therefore the most suitable. And so the luxurious rest of the group was continued for twenty-four hours for all save Hobart.
"Jimmy Grayson has been here before," interrupted Hobart, "and he says it's true, every word of it; if Jimmy Grayson vouches for a thing, that settles it; and here is a copy of the Grayville Argus; it has to be a pretty good town that can publish as smart a daily as this." He handed a neat sheet to Barton, who laughed. "There speaks the great detective," he said.
"Grayville, with all its advantages as a place of rest, is sure to be like the other mountain towns," he said, somewhat sourly "the same houses, the same streets, the same people, I might almost say the same mountains. There will be nothing unusual, nothing out of the way." Harley had taken the paper from Barton's hands and was reading it.
Grayson for a while, and they, too, looked forward to a day of rest and the restoration of their toilets. "They tell me that Grayville has one of the best hotels in the mountains," said Barton to Harley, his brother correspondent.
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