Banbrock didn’t finish his question. Nobody answered it.
“We don’t know what happened,” I said after a while. “Your daughter and someone we don’t know may have gone there. Your daughter may have been dead before she was taken there. She may have—”
“But Myra!” Banbrock was pulling at his collar with a finger inside. “Where is Myra?”
I couldn’t answer that, nor could any of the others.
“You are going up to Knob Valley now?” I asked him.
“Yes, at once. You will come with me?”
I wasn’t sorry I could not.
“No. There are things to be done here. I’ll give you a note to the marshal. I want you to look carefully at the piece of your daughter’s photograph the Italian found—to see if you remember it.”
Banbrock and the lawyer left.