The important-acting guy, by now, has saw us and advances forward.
"The maid, here," he says, "says she left Miss Winkie setting by the window and holding a bridle in her lap. Mooning over it kind of, she says. She goes downstairs, the maid does, and she has not no more'n got good and down when she hears a racket and she runs back up fast as she can and it is like this. We has not touched nothing. This," he, says pointing to a scruffed-looking place on the rug, "I guess is where she fell down and got up again, and this"—pointing to a spot where the plaster has been gouged out of the wall—"this here is where whoever done it must of swung and missed—and, from the evidence, whoever must of done it was strong as a horse. And this here is the bridle she was holding, which looks as if it was tore out of her hands and—" He pauses and squints at Jimmie. "Hey," he says, "you do not look like no coroner, who are you?"
"He is her brother," I says, and my voice seems to come from some far-off place and does not seem to belong to me at all.
"Oh," the man says embarrassed. "I am sorry, buddy. I did not know about you being related to the deceased. I am mighty sorry."
Jimmie does not answer. He is looking at the bridle like it is Lazarus arose from the dead and it is plain he is going to keel over.
He puts out his hand, as if he is in a trance, and takes the bridle from the man.
"It is all right," I says, "it is his bridle. Leave him have it. I will take him out of here." Which I do as they bring in a wicker basket and set it down by this thing on the floor around which they draws a white chalk mark before ... before they—
Guess I must be coming down with a cold. Yeah. Sure I will have another one. Just to wet my whistle. I seems to be kind of dried up like. Talking too much, I guess. There is times, though, when you has got to get it out of your system—the cold, I mean. Yeah. Well, here's to nothing, mister. If you got nothing, you got nothing to lose and, even if you does, it stands to advantage.
What did who win after what? Oh, Winkie. He does not win no more. And does not lose no more. Because he does not ride no more. No, I mean no more. Never. You see, he ... he bumped hisself off. I took it for granted you knew.