"How ingenuous! How simple and sweet and natural!" gushed the Professor. And the little editor bemoaned his lack of inches.
"Ah, man, man!" teased the Inspector, when brother and sister were gone, the cumbersome Professor passing before the window a foot behind his quick-stepping sister. "In the West it's always Spring. A country that hasn't women enough to go round——"
"What in blazes are you driving at——"
"I didn't think it was in you, Stamford. I'm delighted to see something of the gallant again; I thought the West had lost it all these many years—or never had it. The poor Corporal had traces of it—— Ah!" as Stamford frowned, "I thought you had something heavier than a pretty girl on your mind when you called. Now, let's have it."
Stamford brought his fist down on the desk.
"Who murdered Corporal Faircloth?"
Inspector Barker readjusted the ink-well.
"If you don't mind, my boy, keep your thumping for your own desk. I have this one reserved."
Stamford, stubborn as small men can be, threw himself into a chair, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.
"In ten days—what have you done? That's what I want to know. What are you planning to do? I'm going to sit here till you tell me."