expect from his fellows, just so long as his
getting this didn’t interfere with the way of
living of the others. And, after all, the ser-
geant thought, the world is full of “peculiar
characters.”

So the sergeant decided to set down his
notes in his book, for future reference, and
leave them at that. At least he would have
the records if anything should crop up later.

He returned to his local headquarters at
Port Coutin, saw Inspector Kerry off north
again, and: continued his regular routine in
the district. It was not until six months later
when the Inspector returned on his way
out—this time by plane in below- zero
weather, right on the tail of a blizzard which
had raged for a week—that the name of
the Mad Goblin came up once more.

“Has anyone seen the Mad Goblin
lately?”

The query started slowly, and then began
to travel, for now they came to think of it,
no one had seen him. Not that anyone cared,
but there the simple fact was.

A week passed, and then another week.

“Has anyone seen the Mad Goblin
lately?”

When the time came for him to call at
old man Dobel’s for his usual monthly sup-
plies, and he failed to make an appearance,
the query began to circulate faster.

“Has anyone seen the Mad Goblin
lately?”

“Och, why doesn’t somebody go out to
the man’s place and find out about him?”
asked Mrs. Brady, in spite of all her vows
not to be interested.

“Nobody's got a mind to take a charge
of buckshot in his pants just for being over-
friendly,” was the answer she got.

It was perhaps a cold-blooded way of
looking at the situation, but no one could
blame the settlers for that. Goblin had
brought on this attitude by his own surly
behaviour.

The day Inspector Kerry arrived for a few
hours’ stop-over, the query reached Ser-
geant Dalgleish at Port Coulin, and he
decided to round up a few settlers, and,
with his assistant at local headquarters, he
would make a trip to Bluebird Canyon and
settle all doubts about the whereabouts of
the Mad Goblin.

When the Inspector learned what was
afoot, he too volunteered to go with the
party. So a little company of seven men
took the trail.

As they neared the clearing by the shack,
most of the men kept in hiding, their guns
ready in case of trouble. Inspector Kerry
and Sergeant Dalgleish crept cautiously
forward. There was no sign of any life
anywhere. The door of the shack was
securely closed. There was a heavy shutter
on the window.

After a pause, Dalgleish went boldly up
to the door and battered at it with the
butt-end of his revolver. Getting no
response, he beckoned for Kerry and the
constable—for after all this was police duty
first, and a settler’s concern only after that.
The three officers put their broad shoulders
to the woodwork and the door gave way
inward.

A rush of vile air swept over the
truders, causing them to cough and sne
It was dark as pitch in there. The constable
tore down the shutter from the window. and
so let a stream of sunlight in.

The Mad Goblin’s bunk was empty. A
huge inert object was lying on the floor. It
was the Mad Goblin, sprawled, face down-
ward. Dalgleish knelt down and turned the
man over. From the look of him, he had |
been dead for weeks. A neat little bullet-
hole showed on his left temple. By the side |
of the Mad Goblin lay his rifle, still partly |
loaded.

Looking about for the cause of the musty,
pestiferous odour that pervaded the place,
a strange sight presented itself. Around the
walls of the shack were nailed the heads of
putrid fish, the heads of dead animals,
rabbit feet and bird wings, toads, lizards—
all in varying stages of decay. Below each
was written a religious quotation about the
‘coming Armageddon,’ accompanied by the
vilest of blasphemies in English, and porno-

graphic comments in German.

Anxious to get out of the filthy place,
Dalgleish ordered the men to remove the
body outside.

The only thing in there to give the
slightest clue to the man’s identity was a
pencilled note lying on a bench in the
darkest corner. The sergeant read it aloud
to Inspector Kerry.

“This is my last request. Don’t bury me in
the earth for the worms to get me. The worms of
humanity have already gorged on me.

“Build a fire, soak my body in petrol, and set

&
Smithers

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Page Fifty-eight

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