“I’m telling you that Eddie Carter has beat us to it. He didn’t go to the mill. He won’t come back here.... Who’s got a big yellow touring car—a Comet Six—in this town?”
Odell put his scarred hands to his forehead: “Doc Benson, I guess,” he said vaguely.
“He here?”
“I guess he’s in there eatin’.”
“Well, tell him his car went out of town twenty minutes ago at sixty per,” said the detective briskly.... “So long. I’m sorry.... Is there a garage in the village where they have cars for hire?”
“At the hotel,” said the farmer.... “By God!...” He got up as though dazed.
“Mazie,” he called hoarsely. Nobody heard him in the gay tumult. He stared after the detective, who was walking swiftly down the path in the rain.
“Jesus,” he whispered.... “He done us all.... ’N’ that’s that! Oh, God!—’n’ that’s that!”
A nine days’ scandal in the village—a year’s food for gossip—and that was that, also.