He noticed that the mud with which it was liberally covered was of
a light sandy sort, and he discovered on one of the tyres a small
shell.
Apparently, therefore, last night's wild journey had been to the
coast, and it was a natural inference that the sea had provided a
secure hiding-place for the packing-case and its dreadful contents.
But then that meant that there was no evidence left on which he
could take action.
As he busied himself with his task, he tried to think out as clearly
as he could the position in which he found himself and to decide
what he ought to do next.
To his quick and hasty nature the swiftest action was always the
most congenial, and had he followed his instinct, he would have lost
no time in denouncing Deede Dawson. But his cooler thoughts told
him that he dared not do that, since it would be to involve risks,
not for himself, but for others, that he simply dared not contemplate.
He felt that the police, even if they credited his story, which he
also felt that very likely they would not do, could not act on his
sole evidence.
And even if they did act and did arrest Deede Dawson, it was certain
no jury would convict on so strange a story, so entirely
uncorroborated.
The only result would be to strengthen Deede Dawson's position by
the warning, to show him his danger, and to give him the
opportunity, if he chose to use it, of disappearing and beginning
again his plots and plans after some fresh and perhaps more deadly
fashion.
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