Consequently, the
saddle, blanket, and unfortunate rider must have been precipitated
together, and at the same moment, on or near this very spot.
Captain Carroll was not a detective; he had no theory to establish,
no motive to discover, only as an officer, he would have simply
rejected any excuse offered on those terms by one of his troopers
to account for a similar accident. He troubled himself with no
further deduction. Without dismounting, he gave a closer attention
to the marks of struggling hoofs near the edge of the ditch, which
had not yet been obliterated by the daily travel. In doing so, his
horse's hoof struck a small object partly hidden in the thick dust
of the highway. It seemed to be a leather letter or memorandum
case adapted for the breast pocket. Carroll instantly dismounted
and picked it up. The name and address of Dr. West were legibly
written on the inside. It contained a few papers and notes, but
nothing more. The possibility that it might disclose the letters
he was seeking was a hope quickly past. It was only a
corroborative fact that the accident had taken place on the spot
where he was standing. He was losing time; he hurriedly put the
book in his pocket, and once more spurred forward on his road.
CHAPTER VII
The exterior of Aladdin's Palace, familiar as it already was to
Carroll, struck him that afternoon as looking more than usually
unreal, ephemeral, and unsubstantial. The Moorish arches, of the
thinnest white pine; the arabesque screens and lattices that looked
as if made of pierced cardboard; the golden minarets that seemed to
be glued to the shell-like towers, and the hollow battlements that
visibly warped and cracked in the fierce sunlight,--all appeared
more than ever like a theatrical scene that might sink through the
ground, or vanish on either side to the sound of the prompter's
whistle.
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