"Hello, Mrs. Terrill!" said Thompson. "Busy day for you, eh? Why don't you make Bill help you with the wash?"
"Bill's got enough to do washin' his innerds—-with liquor!" gruffly retorted the woman, who seemed to be greatly vexed, even angry, at the mention of her husband's name. "And just as if I haven't put up with him time and time again about it! I won't do it no more! And him daring to complain about my cookin' and my not mendin' his clothes! Why, this mornin' he come home late, with his coat all torn and his——-"
"What?" almost shouted Thompson. "What did you say, there m'am?"
—-"I said his coat was all torn," repeated Mrs. Terrill, pleased to find a listener who appeared to be sympathetic. "You know how 'ternal careless he is, Mr. Thompson, and how much trouble he gives me."
"I do, I do indeed." The constable slowly drew out of his pocket the clews Tom had given him. "Could this be a piece out o' Bill's coat?" he asked in an offhand manner calculated to avert suspicion.
"That's it!" exclaimed Bill's long-suffering wife. "What of it?" she added quickly. "Anything wrong? I guess he must've got into a fight, his face was so battered, but I hope——-"
"Hold on, Mrs. Terrill! Enough said!" interposed the constable, who felt sorry for the way he had led her into a trap. "I made a bet about these rags, and now I'm going to put it up to Bill. Do you know where I can find him?"
"No, I don't, but I guess you know," the woman replied sharply.
"What's your bet?"
"I'll tell you bye and bye, if I win," said Thompson, with a forced laugh, as he and Tom walked away. "Now, boy, you heard what she said," he continued, when they were out of earshot. "You witnessed when she identified these rags. I reckon Bill Terrill's our man."
As quickly as possible they returned to the corner, where Thompson dived into the saloon, only to reappear after a few minutes—-alone.