“I—I didn’t say that—I didn’t——” He sank on a red-plush sofa and covered his face.
“Now, Mr. Bangs, just tell what you know. You don’t want to go to jail. In forty-eight hours you can be a long ways from here—and nobody will bother about you—if they get hold of somebody more important.... It’s your last chance. Will you talk or not?” Her hand was on the doorknob again.
“I—I——”
“Yes?”
“They’ll kill me.”
“Like they did Sheriff Churchill,” she said.
He stared at her goggle-eyed. “Did they do that?” he asked, in sudden terror. “They didn’t do that. I didn’t know nothin’ about it. I thought he run off. I——”
“They won’t kill you if you get away,” she said. “Now tell me what you know. Quickly!” she snapped out the last word of command as a school-teacher might speak to a refractory child.
“I—I been sellin’.... Not much. Jest a few cases—once in a while—when I could git it.”
“How much?”