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statue was a spy post. A succession of slaves were imprisoned inside the statue, each fed and watered until death. And in that bleak tower the Unhappy Virgin became old, ugly and dead!”
    The mark said, “I know that freakish King is turning on the spits in hellfire. Mister Lee, I don’t suppose the statue is still wearing her jewelry?”
    Trevor said, “Unfortunately not, Mister Stilwell. They were most likely removed by the King at the Unhappy Virgin’s death.”
    Speedy maneuvered the limo through the heavy traffic of a main highway. He turned into and moved slowly down a rutted road into the mouth of the bleak main street of a ghost town. Mountains loomed in the background. A ghostly double row of derelict shackslined the main street. They crouched like battered vultures in the eerie twilight. A coyote was silhouetted on a rise as he raised his muzzle and howled.
    In the rear view mirror, Folks got a glimpse of the prop decaled state police car, driven by two grifters in uniform, turn in behind them. They snuffed the cruiser’s lights and pulled it into concealment. The limo glided toward a flickering glow of lantern light splashing from a lopsided shack at the end of the street. Speedy pulled up in front of the shack. The head and shoulders of the statue loomed up above the shack at the rear.
    Folks said, “Mister Lee, you and Albert set up that machine immediately to check out the statue’s authenticity.”
    Speedy leapt out and opened the limo doors. Stilwell and Folks got out and Speedy pulled the limo to the rear of the shack. The Kid, in a dove gray suit, wore a beaded headband to control his long coarse black wig. Kate and a grifter detective stood beside Kid, gazing sadly down at Marvel lying on a straw mattress on the rough pine floor, apparently in a coma. Marvel, in tattered underwear, was skillfully made up as a torture victim with cigarette burns and bruises.
    Suddenly Marvel opened his blank eyes. He clutched Kid’s hand in a death grip as he walled up his eyes.
    Marvel croaked, “Jimmy, thank God you’re here . . . dear Brother . . . horrible, Jimmy! They tortured me . . . to steal my millions . . . all yours, Jimmy. Wouldn’t tell those lice where . . .”
    The grifter detective leaned down close to Marvel and said, “I’m Detective Ware. They, the bandits, did you know them?”
    Marvel gasped and death rattled. He fell back, apparently dead. The detective tucked Marvel’s limp hands across his chest and pulled the flour sack sheet over his face. Then he took out a report notebook and pen.
    Kid’s face was tragic with sorrow. He said, “Poor dreamer, Billy. Treasure slave! Bled his sweat all over the world for twenty years, dreamed here . . . uranium, big strike here . . . murdered here!”
    Kid choked up as the detective scribbled furiously in his report book.
    He said, “Be careful! Don’t touch anything as we move out of here.”
    The detective picked up the lamp. The mark was in a trance as Folks took his arm to guide him toward the door. The cop steered them from the shack before he followed. He stooped down beside the shack and they all gathered around him as he very carefully retrieved a fancy gold lighter. He cradled the lighter in his palm as he showed it to the con mob.
    He swept his cold cop eyes across their faces and said, “Any of you folks lose this item?”
    They did not respond. He carefully sealed the lighter in an envelope and pocketed it. Then he took his pad and pen in hand to jot down names. Kid tugged at his sleeve. The cop turned and faced him.
    Kid said, “Detective Ware, is there any chance that lighter could lead to Billy’s killers?”
    The cop pulled at his earlobe and said, “Possibly. Perhaps the lab can lift prints. The lighter was apparently purchased at Cartier’s, that famous jewelry firm in New York City. Now, Mr. Dancing Rain, tell me everything you know about those millions in cash the killers believed were here.”
    Kid said, “I can assure