“Lighted matches nigh a powder keg.”
“I believe, and I hope to prove, there is an organization here for the purpose of wholesale dealing in smuggled liquor. I believe that organization murdered Sheriff Churchill. I believe Jenney is a part of it and that his appointment as sheriff is a move to give the criminals safety in their work. I know there are huge profits. At the top is some man of intelligence who directs. I want to get that man.”
“Who?”
“I think Sheriff Churchill knew—or guessed. That’s why he is dead.”
“Uh!... Wa-al?”
“Our only chance is to block Jenney’s appointment. To get first to the Governor with the name of another man—a man whose name and personality carry weight. If we can get the office of sheriff we are halfway to success.”
“Will Abner Fownes back the man you pick? Go to the Governor fer ye?”
She looked at him briefly, moved a step closer, and lowered her voice.
“Abner Fownes,” she said, “is the man I believe to be the chief of the rum runners. I believe he gave the word to kill Sheriff Churchill.”
Whitefield moved for the first time. He ran a hand through his beard and drew a breath like a sigh.