“Come in,” Pres invited, and she heard the door close.
A murmur of indistinguishable words followed while the Texan dressed. His close to sixty years had not lost him his habit of taking command of a situation or his ability to get into his clothes quickly, and barely five minutes had elapsed before Millie heard his decisive:
“All right, Mr. Taylor. Let’s go!”
She had thrown on a kimono and stood in her doorway as committeeman and one-time ranger came out.
“Uncle Pres!” she cried. “I couldn’t help hearing. He didn’t do it.”
“How do you know?” the local man demanded, before Campbell could speak.
“I know him. He’d never shoot anybody from behind.”
“Just what I said,” agreed the ex-ranger. “But what he seems to need is an alibi. Maybe, if you and he were together any——”
“I haven’t seen him since he went out right after supper, and then I don’t think he saw me; I just noticed him going through the lobby,” the girl said. “But it’s nonsense to charge him——”
“He and Marling quarreled this afternoon,” put in Taylor. “Over one of Mr. Campbell’s decisions.”