Out on the street, the local committeeman said: “Well, that’s that. I told you my being with you would probably do you more harm than good, my not being tied up with this city administration—but I don’t know as you’d have done any better if you’d gone alone. It’s never a bad idea to have a witness along when you’re talking to a man like that Moore.”
“I wanted to see Curly and I’d have liked to see Marling’s body, too,” the ex-ranger replied, “but there wa’n’t any use asking after he got so plumb insulting.”
They were walking slowly and now became conscious that footsteps behind them were quickening. As they turned a corner and passed out of sight of the police headquarters entrance, a husky voice called cautiously:
“Go on past that street light and stop.”
Campbell, over his shoulder, recognized a thickset, elderly man as having been one of the audience during his interview with Detective Moore.
Taylor whispered: “Detective Graney. One of the old-timers on the force.”
They stopped in the shadow halfway down the block and Graney came ponderously heavy-footed to stand beside them.
“Kind of a raw deal Moore give you, back there,” he remarked. “He don’t know nothing about folks from Texas, Moore don’t.”
“Do you, suh?” Campbell asked courteously.