Cowles pulled up on the side of the square on which Judge Henderson had his office. "You may get out here, Miss," said he. "I think you'll find the Judge in right now."
"But why—what's the reason——" she began, much perturbed, and looking at Don. "What's wrong, Don? Aren't you coming?"
"Yes, Mr. Sheriff," said Don, "let me go up with her. I'll be right on over."
The big man looked at the two, a sort of pity in his face. "I'm sorry," said he, "but you'll have to come with me right away. Tell me, are you Miss Oglesby, his kin from over Columbus way?"
"Yes, yes," said she. "I've been here before. But tell me, what does this mean—this murder? It's an awful thing, isn't it? It seems to me I remember the marshal's name—maybe I've seen him. Who did it—whom do they suspect?"
"That's what we don't know for sure," said the sheriff, "and it's what we've got to find out."
"Why, who would ever have thought it of this little town!"
"Things happen in this little town, I reckon, about the same as they do anywhere," said the sheriff.
"Don——" She turned to him once more as she stood on the pavement, he still remaining on the front seat of the car where the sheriff's hand restrained him. "Why, Don——"
But the sheriff's solemn face was turned towards her. He shook his head. An instant and the car had whirled away from the curb.