The boy hesitated; stared into her gleaming eyes an instant, and then drew himself up against the wall, silent. Holding the revolver leveled, Beth took her hand from the mouthpiece and lifted the receiver again to her ear. The sheriff was still speaking in the phone.
“This is Beth—Beth Rollins,” she interrupted. Her voice sounded almost casual. She heard the sheriff’s gasp of astonishment, his profane exclamation, and went on evenly:
“I’ve been listening, Sheriff Williams. I—you’re looking for Tom Hawley—well, he’s here—here with me now. He’s—he’s going to stay here until you come.” She waited through an instant of silence, and then the sheriff’s voice said with seeming contrition:
“I’m mighty sorry, Miss Beth. I was coming over to see you tonight—I clean forgot you were on this line in the excitement. Your stepfather—he—”
She interrupted his awkward, embarrassed explanation. Her brain was whirling; the room was dim to her sight, with only the boy’s white face and his questioning eyes watching her, standing out clear and sharp.
“Tom Hawley’s here with me,” she heard her own voice repeating. “He—he’ll wait for you here.”
And then the sheriff’s voice said:
“Hell, ma’m, your stepfather—it didn’t happen only a few minutes ago. If Tom Hawley’s there with you now that’s all the alibi I want—it’s a cinch he wasn’t here. I’m mighty glad you happened to tell me tonight, Miss Beth, or it would of gone hard for him. You let me speak with him, ma’m, if he’s there—it must have been One-Eyed Charlie did it.”
(The End.)
Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the March 27, 1920 issue of The Argosy magazine.