"
Coombs did not cringe, but my tone brought him uneasiness.
"The niggers won't work," he returned gruffly. "Thar ain't a nigger on
the place."
"Apparently white men enough hanging around. What 's the matter with
the negroes?"
"Ghosts," and the fellow laughed. "Maybe yer've seen sum?"
I straightened up, stung by the sneer in his voice.
"No; but I 've seen something more to the point--a murdered man."
"What?"
"Just what I said. There was a man killed last night in that back room
upstairs. Shot in the head through the window. I heard the shot and
investigated. His body lies there now."
I saw Broussard's snaky eyes flash across toward Coombs' face, but the
latter remained motionless.
"It's a damn lie!" he ejaculated roughly. "There is no body there."
"Easily settled. Come with me, and I 'll show you."
Rather to my surprise neither objected to the test, and we tramped in
single file toward the house. Some precaution kept me at the rear, and
I followed silently when Coombs entered the open door of the kitchen.
Unknown to me there was a narrow back stairway, and we mounted this
without exchanging a word. In the upper hall Coombs threw open the
rear door, and, stood aside, not even looking within.
I glanced past him.
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