XIII + 

The Cliff Road + 

Eric Collinson wired me from Quesada: + 

Come immediately stop need you stop trouble danger stop meet me at Sunset Hotel stop do not communicate stop Gabrielle must not know stop hurry + 

The telegram came to the agency on Friday morning. + 

I wasnтАЩt in San Francisco that morning. I was up in Martinez dickering with a divorced wife of Phil Leach, alias a lot of names. We wanted him for spreading reams of orphan paper through the Northwest, and we wanted him badly. This ex-wifeтБатАФa sweet-looking little blonde telephone operatorтБатАФhad a fairly recent photograph of Phil, and was willing to sell it. + 

тАЬHe never thought enough of me to risk passing any bum checks so I could have things,тАЭ she complained. тАЬI had to bring in my own share of the nut. So why shouldnтАЩt I make something out of him now, when I guess some trampтАЩs getting plenty? Now how much will you give for it?тАЭ + 

She had an exaggerated idea of how much the photograph was worth to us, of course, but I finally made the deal with her. But it was after six when I returned to the city, too late for a train that would put me in Quesada that night. I packed a bag, got my car from the garage, and drove down. + 

Quesada was a one-hotel town pasted on the rocky side of a young mountain that sloped into the Pacific Ocean some eighty miles from San Francisco. QuesadaтАЩs beach was too abrupt and hard and jagged for bathing, so Quesada had never got much summer-resort money. For a while it had been a hustling rum-running port, but that racket was dead now: bootleggers had learned there was more profit and less worry in handling domestic hooch than imported. Quesada had gone back to sleep. + 

I got there at eleven-something that night, garaged my car, and crossed the street to the Sunset Hotel. It was a low, sprawled-out, yellow building. The night clerk was alone in the lobby, a small effeminate man well past sixty who went to a lot of trouble to show me that his fingernails were rosy and shiny. + 

When he had read my name on the register he gave me a sealed envelopeтБатАФhotel stationeryтБатАФaddressed to me in Eric CollinsonтАЩs handwriting. I tore it open and read: + 

Do not leave the hotel until I have seen you. + 

тАЬHow long has this been here?тАЭ I asked. + 

тАЬSince about eight oтАЩclock. Mr.┬аCarter waited for you for more than an hour, until after the last stage came in from the railroad.тАЭ + 

тАЬHe isnтАЩt staying here?тАЭ + 

тАЬOh, dear, no. He and his bride have got the Tooker place, down in the cove.тАЭ + 

Collinson wasnтАЩt the sort of person to whose instructions IтАЩd pay a whole lot of attention. I asked: + 

тАЬHow do you get there?тАЭ + 

тАЬYouтАЩd never be able to find it at night,тАЭ the clerk assured me, тАЬunless you went all the way around by the East road, and not then, IтАЩm sure, unless you knew the country.тАЭ + 

тАЬYeah? How do you get there in the daytime?тАЭ + 

тАЬYou go down this street to the end, take the fork of the road on the ocean side, and follow that up along the cliff. It isnтАЩt really a road, more of a path. ItтАЩs about three miles to the house, a brown house, shingled all over, on a little hill. ItтАЩs easily enough found in the daytime if you remember to keep to the right, to the ocean side, all the way down. But youтАЩd never, never in the world, be able to findтБатАФтАЭ + 

тАЬThanks,тАЭ I said, not wanting to hear the story all over again. + 

He led me up to a room, promised to call me at five, and I was asleep by midnight. + 

The morning was dull, ugly, foggy, and cold when I climbed out of bed to say, тАЬAll right, thanks,тАЭ into the phone. It hadnтАЩt improved much by the time I had got dressed and gone downstairs. The clerk said there was not a chance in the world of getting anything to eat in Quesada before seven oтАЩclock. + 

I went out of the hotel, down the street until it became a dirt road, kept to the dirt road until it forked, and turned into the branch that bent toward the ocean. This branch was never really a road from its beginning, and soon was nothing but a rocky path climbing along the side of a rocky ledge that kept pushing closer to the waterтАЩs edge. The side of the ledge became steeper and steeper, until the path was simply an irregular shelf on the face of a cliffтБатАФa shelf eight or ten feet wide in places, no more than four or five in others. Above and behind the path, the cliff rose sixty or seventy feet; below and in front, it slanted down a hundred or more to ravel out in the ocean. A breeze from the general direction of China was pushing fog over the top of the cliff, making noisy lather of seawater at its bottom. + 

Rounding a corner where the cliff was steepestтБатАФwas, in fact, for a hundred yards or so, straight up and downтБатАФI stopped to look at a small ragged hole in the pathтАЩs outer rim. The hole was perhaps six inches across, with fresh loose earth piled in a little semicircular mound on one side, scattered on the other. It wasnтАЩt exciting to look at, but it said plainly to even such a city man as I was: here a bush was uprooted not so long ago. + 

There was no uprooted bush in sight. I chucked my cigarette away and got down on hands and knees, putting my head out over the pathтАЩs rim, looking down. I saw the bush twenty feet below. It was perched on the top of a stunted tree that grew almost parallel to the cliff, fresh brown earth sticking to the bushтАЩs roots. The next thing that caught my eye was also brownтБатАФa soft hat lying upside down between two pointed gray rocks, halfway down to the water. I looked at the bottom of the cliff and saw the feet and legs. + 

They were a manтАЩs feet and legs, in black shoes and dark trousers. The feet lay on the top of a water-smoothed boulder, lay on their sides, six inches apart, both pointing to the left. From the feet, dark-trousered legs slanted down into the water, disappearing beneath the surface a few inches above the knees. That was all I could see from the cliff road. + 

I went down the cliff, though not at that point. It was a lot too steep there to be tackled by a middle-aged fat man. A couple of hundred yards back, the path had crossed a crooked ravine that creased the cliff diagonally from top to bottom. I returned to the ravine and went down it, stumbling, sliding, sweating and swearing, but reaching the bottom all in one piece, with nothing more serious the matter with me than torn fingers, dirty clothes, and ruined shoes. + 

The fringe of rock that lay between cliff and ocean wasnтАЩt meant to be walked on, but I managed to travel over it most of the way, having to wade only once or twice, and then not up to my knees. But when I came to the spot where the feet and legs were I had to go waist-deep into the Pacific to lift the body, which rested on its back on the worn slanting side of a mostly submerged boulder, covered from thighs up by frothing water. I got my hands under the armpits, found solid ground for my feet, and lifted. + 

It was Eric CollinsonтАЩs body. Bones showed through flesh and clothing on his shattered back. The back of his headтБатАФthat half of itтБатАФwas crushed. I dragged him out of the water and put him down on dry rocks. His dripping pockets contained a hundred and fifty-four dollars and eighty-two cents, a watch, a knife, a gold pen and pencil, papers, a couple of letters, and a memoranda book. I spread out the papers, letters, and book; and read them; and learned nothing except that what was written in them hadnтАЩt anything to do with his death. I couldnтАЩt find anything elseтБатАФon him or near himтБатАФto tell me more about his death than the uprooted bush, the hat caught between rocks, and the position of his body had told me. + 

I left him there and went back to the ravine, panting and heaving myself up it to the cliff path, returning to where the bush had grown. I didnтАЩt find anything there in the way of significant marks, footprints, or the like. The path was chiefly hard rock. I went on along it. Presently the cliff began to bend away from the ocean, lowering the path along its side. After another half-mile there was no cliff at all, merely a bush-grown ridge at whose foot the path ran. There was no sun yet. My pants stuck disagreeably to my chilly legs. Water squinched in my torn shoes. I hadnтАЩt had any breakfast. My cigarettes had got wet. My left knee ached from a twist it had got sliding down the ravine. I cursed the detective business and slopped on along the path. + 

The path took me away from the sea for a while, across the neck of a wooded point that pushed the ocean back, down into a small valley, up the side of a low hill; and then I saw the house the night clerk had described. + 

It was a rather large two-story building, roof and walls brown-shingled, set on a hump in the ground close to where the ocean came in to take a quarter-mile u-shaped bite out of the coast. The house faced the water. I was behind it. There was nobody in sight. The ground-floor windows were closed, with drawn blinds. The second-story windows were open. Off to one side were some smaller farm buildings. + 

I went around to the front of the house. Wicker chairs and a table were on the screened front porch. The screened porch-door was hooked on the inside. I rattled it noisily. I rattled it off and on for at least five minutes, and got no response. I went around to the rear again, and knocked on the back door. My knocking knuckles pushed the door open half a foot. Inside was a dark kitchen and silence. I opened the door wider, knocking on it again, loudly. More silence. + 

I called: тАЬMrs.┬аCollinson.тАЭ + 

When no answer came I went through the kitchen and a darker dining-room, found a flight of stairs, climbed them, and began poking my head into rooms. + 

There was nobody in the house. + 

In one bedroom, a .38 automatic pistol lay in the center of the floor. There was an empty shell close to it, another under a chair across the room, and a faint odor of burnt gunpowder in the air. In one corner of the ceiling was a hole that a .38 bullet could have made, and, under it on the floor, a few crumbs of plaster. The bedclothes were smooth and undisturbed. Clothes in the closet, things on and in table and bureau, told me this was Eric CollinsonтАЩs bedroom. + 

Next to it, according to the same sort of evidence, was GabrielleтАЩs bedroom. Her bed had not been slept in, or had been made since being slept in. On the floor of her closet I found a black satin dress, a once-white handkerchief, and a pair of black suede slippers, all wet and muddyтБатАФthe handkerchief also wet with blood. In her bathroomтБатАФin the tubтБатАФwere a bath-towel and a face-towel, both stained with mud and blood, and still damp. On her dressing-table was a small piece of thick white paper that had been folded. White powder clung to one crease. I touched it with the end of my tongueтБатАФmorphine. + 

I went back to Quesada, changed my shoes and socks, got breakfast and a supply of dry cigarettes, and asked the clerkтБатАФa dapper boy, this oneтБатАФwho was responsible for law and order there. + 

тАЬThe marshalтАЩs Dick Cotton,тАЭ he told me; тАЬbut he went up to the city last night. Ben RollyтАЩs deputy sheriff. You can likely find him over at his old manтАЩs office.тАЭ + 

тАЬWhereтАЩs that?тАЭ + 

тАЬNext door to the garage.тАЭ + 

I found it, a one-story red brick building with wide glass windows labeled тАЬJ. King Rolly, Real Estate, Mortgages, Loans, Stocks and Bonds, Insurance, Notes, Employment Agency, Notary Public, Moving and Storage,тАЭ and a lot more that IтАЩve forgotten. + 

Two men were inside, sitting with their feet on a battered desk behind a battered counter. One was a man of fifty-and, with hair, eyes, and skin of indefinite, washed-out tan shadesтБатАФan amiable, aimless-looking man in shabby clothes. The other was twenty years younger and in twenty years would look just like him. + 

тАЬIтАЩm hunting,тАЭ I said, тАЬfor the deputy sheriff.тАЭ + 

тАЬMe,тАЭ the younger man said, easing his feet from desk to floor. He didnтАЩt get up. Instead, he put a foot out, hooked a chair by its rounds, pulled it from the wall, and returned his feet to the desktop. тАЬSet down. This is Pa,тАЭ wiggling a thumb at the other man. тАЬYou donтАЩt have to mind him.тАЭ + 

тАЬKnow Eric Carter?тАЭ I asked. + 

тАЬThe fellow honeymooning down to the Tooker place? I didnтАЩt know his front name was Eric.тАЭ + 

тАЬEric Carter,тАЭ the elder Rolly said; тАЬthatтАЩs the way I made out the rent receipt for him.тАЭ + 

тАЬHeтАЩs dead,тАЭ I told them. тАЬHe fell off the cliff road last night or this morning. It could have been an accident.тАЭ + 

The father looked at the son with round tan eyes. The son looked at me with questioning tan eyes and said: тАЬTch, tch, tch.тАЭ + 

I gave him a card. He read it carefully, turning it over to see that there was nothing on its back, and passed it to his father. + 

тАЬGo down and take a look at him?тАЭ I suggested. + 

тАЬI guess I ought to,тАЭ the deputy sheriff agreed, getting up from his chair. He was a larger man than I had supposedтБатАФas big as the dead Collinson boyтБатАФand, in spite of his slouchiness, he had a nicely muscled body. + 

I followed him out to a dusty car in front of the office. Rolly senior didnтАЩt go with us. + 

тАЬSomebody told you about it?тАЭ the deputy sheriff asked when we were riding. + 

тАЬI stumbled on him. Know who the Carters are?тАЭ + 

тАЬSomebody special?тАЭ + 

тАЬYou heard about the Riese murder in the San Francisco temple?тАЭ + 

тАЬUh-huh, I read the papers.тАЭ + 

тАЬMrs.┬аCarter was the Gabrielle Leggett mixed up in that, and Carter was the Eric Collinson.тАЭ + 

тАЬTch, tch, tch,тАЭ he said. + 

тАЬAnd her father and stepmother were killed a couple of weeks before that.тАЭ + 

тАЬTch, tch, tch,тАЭ he said. тАЬWhatтАЩs the matter with them?тАЭ + 

тАЬA family curse.тАЭ + 

тАЬSure enough?тАЭ + 

I didnтАЩt know how seriously he meant that question, though he seemed serious enough. I hadnтАЩt got him sized up yet. However, clown or not, he was the deputy sheriff stationed at Quesada, and this was his party. He was entitled to the facts. I gave them to him as we bounced over the lumpy road, gave him all I had, from Paris in 1913 to the cliff road a couple of hours ago. + 

тАЬWhen they came back from being married in Reno, Collinson dropped in to see me. They had to stick around for the Haldorn bunchтАЩs trial, and he wanted a quiet place to take the girl: she was still in a daze. You know Owen Fitzstephan?тАЭ + 

тАЬThe writer fellow that was down here a while last year? Uh-huh.тАЭ + 

тАЬWell, he suggested this place.тАЭ + 

тАЬI know. The old man mentioned it. But whatтАЩd they take them aliases for?тАЭ + 

тАЬTo dodge publicity, and, partly, to try to dodge something like this.тАЭ + 

He frowned vaguely and asked: + 

тАЬYou mean they expected something like this?тАЭ + 

тАЬWell, itтАЩs easy to say, тАШI told you so,тАЩ after things happen, but IтАЩve never thought we had the answer to either of the two mix-ups sheтАЩs been in. And not having the answerтБатАФhow could you tell what to expect? I didnтАЩt think so much of their going off into seclusion like this while whatever was hanging over herтБатАФif anything wasтБатАФwas still hanging over her, but Collinson was all for it. I made him promise to wire me if he saw anything funny. Well, he did.тАЭ + 

Rolly nodded three or four times, then asked: + 

тАЬWhat makes you think he didnтАЩt fall off the cliff?тАЭ + 

тАЬHe sent for me. Something was wrong. Outside of that, too many things have happened around his wife for me to believe in accidents.тАЭ + 

тАЬThereтАЩs the curse, though,тАЭ he said. + 

тАЬYeah,тАЭ I agreed, studying his indefinite face, still trying to figure him out. тАЬBut the trouble with it is itтАЩs worked out too well, too regularly. ItтАЩs the first one I ever ran across that did.тАЭ + 

He frowned over my opinion for a couple of minutes, and then stopped the car. тАЬWeтАЩll have to get out here: the road ainтАЩt so good the rest of the way.тАЭ None of it had been. тАЬStill and all, you do hear of them working out. ThereтАЩs things that happen that makes a fellow think thereтАЩs things in the worldтБатАФin lifeтБатАФthat he donтАЩt know much about.тАЭ He frowned again as we set off afoot, and found a word he liked. тАЬItтАЩs inscrutable,тАЭ he wound up. + 

I let that go at that. + 

He went ahead up the cliff path, stopping of his own accord where the bush had been torn up, a detail I hadnтАЩt mentioned. I didnтАЩt say anything while he stared down at CollinsonтАЩs body, looked searchingly up and down the face of the cliff, and then went up and down the path, bent far over, his tan eyes intent on the ground. + 

He wandered around for ten minutes or more, then straightened up and said: тАЬThereтАЩs nothing here that I can find. LetтАЩs go down.тАЭ + 

I started back toward the ravine, but he said there was a better way ahead. There was. We went down it to the dead man. + 

Rolly looked from the corpse to the edge of the path high above us, and complained: тАЬI donтАЩt hardly see how he could have landed just that-away.тАЭ + 

тАЬHe didnтАЩt. I pulled him out of the water,тАЭ I said, showing the deputy exactly where I had found the body. + 

тАЬThat would be more like it,тАЭ he decided. + 

I sat on a rock and smoked a cigarette while he went around examining, touching, moving rocks, pebbles, and sand. He didnтАЩt seem to have any luck. + 