"You bet you have, Anderson," said Elon Jones. "It's all settled. Let's go home."
"Settled nothin'!" said the marshal. "It's jest begun. Here's what I deduce: Miss Banks has been foully dealt with. Ain't this her blood, an' ain't she used her own individual handkerchief to stop it up? It's blood right square from her heart, gentlemen!"
"I don't see how—" began Ed Higgins; but Anderson silenced him with a look.
"Of course you don't, but you would if you'd 'a' been a detective as long's I have. What in thunder do you s'pose I got these badges and these medals fer? Fer not seein' how? No, siree! I got 'em fer seein' how; that's what!"
"But, Andy—"
"Don't call me 'Andy,'" commanded Mr. Crow.
"Well, then, Anderson, I'd like to know how the dickens she could use her own handkerchief if she was stabbed to the heart," protested Ed. He had been crying half the time. Anderson was stunned for the moment.
"Why—why—now, look here, Ed Higgins, I ain't got time to explain things to a derned idgit like you. Everybody else understands how, don't you?" and he turned to the crowd. Everybody said yes. "Well, that shows what a fool you are, Ed. Don't bother me any more. I've got work to do."
"Say, Anderson," began Alf Reesling from the outer circle, "I got something important to tell—"
"Who is that? Alf Reesling?" cried Anderson wrathfully.