I rose with a sigh of resignation, but paused for a moment to address Zoberg. "Get hold of yourself," I urged him. "Get somebody in here to look after Miss Susan, and then clarify in your mind what happened. You can help me prove that it wasn't I."
Zoberg nodded very wearily, but did not look up.
"Don't neither of you go into that room where the body is," O'Bryant warned them. "Mr. Wills, get your coat and hat."
I did so, and we left the house. The snow was inches deep and still falling. O'Bryant led me across the street and knocked on the door of a peak-roofed house. A swarthy little man opened to us.
"There's been a murder, Jim," said O'Bryant importantly. "Over at Gird's. You're deputized—go and keep watch. Better take the missus along, to look after Susan. She's bad cut up about it."
We left the new deputy in charge and walked down the street, then turned into the square. Two or three men standing in front of the "Pharmacy" stared curiously, then whispered as we passed. Another figure paused to give me a searching glance. I was not too stunned to be irritated.
"Who are those?" I asked the constable.
"Town fellows," he informed me. "They're mighty interested to see what a killer looks like."
"How do they know about the case?" I almost groaned.
He achieved his short, hard laugh.