“‘The Red Pearl?’” Graney replied promptly. “Some stepper!”
“Red?”
“Fits her two or three ways. For one thing, she always wears it. Another, she trains with Reds, anarchists, or communists or sump’n—I don’t pretend to know just which kind they belong to. Her regular married name is Ricotti, although Angelo don’t go by it.”
“Angelo?”
“Her husband. He calls his last name ‘Rich.’ ‘Quick’ Rich is how the gang knows him. Got it—though we’ve never been able to convict him—by his speed in pulling a gat.”
“A gunman?”
“Sure. What’s all this got——”
“Where is he?”
“He’s been out o’ town the last week or so, but I seen a report from one of our railroad station men that he got back, unexpected, about six o’clock tonight—last night, I mean; it’s morning now.”
“Mr. Graney,” promised Campbell with confidence, “you take me to Angelo Ricotti, and think up a good way to get him mad and talkative, and I’ll give you a laugh on Mr. Detective Moore that he won’t get over till Texas is annexed back to Mexico.”