"Out with it," I said. "What? Come down to cases."
"Money." He uttered the one word and stood silent.
I made a long shot, with,
"Mr. Gilbert found she'd been getting money from other men—"
"Borrowing, Boyne—they used the word 'borrowed,'" Edwards put in. "It was always Tom's way to summon people as though he had a little private judgment bar, haul them up and lecture them; I suppose he thought he had a special license in her case."
"And she went prepared to frame him and bluff him to a standoff. Is that the way you saw it?"
"My opinion—what I might think," said Mr. James Edwards of Sunnyvale ranch, "wouldn't be testimony in a court of law. You don't want it, Boyne."
"Maybe not," I grunted. "Perhaps I could make as good a guess as you could at what young Mrs. Vandeman's capable of; a dolly face, and behind it the courage of hell."
"Boyne," he said, as I left the door free to him, "quit making war on women."
"Can't," I grinned and waved him on out. "The detective business would be a total loss without 'em."