“Me? I thought they were having words over one of my decisions.”
“Yes, you did!” scoffed the detective. “Well, they wasn’t. Half a dozen men heard the girl’s name when Marling spoke it.”
“I didn’t. What was the name?”
“Say, are you trying to kid me? You know blame well it was Wayne—Millie Wayne. One of them roughneck women with your show.”
“Mr. Moore,” said Pres, very mildly, “Miss Wayne’s a right nice young lady, suh. I’d admire not to have you speak like that about her.”
“You’d ‘admire’ for me not to speak like that about a ‘right nice’ young lady,” mimicked Moore. “Listen, fella! You ain’t out in the brush now. You’re in a town with bright lights in it. And I talk about women that get mixed up in murders like they’re supposed to be talked about. Get me?”
The briefest second Pres Campbell fought for self-control and achieved it.
“Yes, suh,” he said. “Well, if there ain’t anythin’ I can do to help——”
“When we need any help from yap deputy sheriffs, we’ll broadcast for it,” Moore answered.
“Yes, suh,” said Pres, and turned toward the door, observing that of the three or four other detectives in the room, at least two were grinning broadly. “I’ll bid you good night, suh.”