"Well, you just tell 'em I've got a clue, and I'm follerin' it up."
With that, he disappeared through the door, closing it with some violence in Alf's face.
Harry Squires was putting the finishing touches to a long and graphic account of the suicide. He looked up as Anderson sauntered into the back office.
"I'm glad you came in, Marshal," he said. "I hated to finish this story without mentioning you, one way or another. Now I can add right here at the end: 'Our worthy Town Marshal, A. Crow, was also present.'"
Anderson sat down. He pulled at his sparse chin whiskers for a moment or two, evidently trying to release something verbal. Failing in this, he sank back in the chair and fixed Mr. Squires with a pathetic look.
"Where have you been?" demanded Harry.
"Oh,—rooting around," said Anderson.
"Well, I'll tell you something that no one else in this town knows," said the other, pitying his old friend. "Are you listening?"
Anderson shook his head drearily. "I'll never be able to live this down, Harry."
"Brace up. All is not lost. Will you do exactly what I tell you to do?"