Brown looked at McAllister.
“Does he mean that you would object to me asking the girl a few civil questions?” he inquired.
“Sure, I’d object,” said McAllister.
“But you ain’t one of these O’Dells!”
“I’m a McAllister—the same kind even if not exactly the same quality.”
Mr. Brown looked puzzled.
“I’m a little above the average myself,” he said thoughtfully. “Tell me why you two’ve got to bellyaching so about me wanting to ask that little girl a few questions, will you? Maybe I’m stupid.”
“Suppose some fool of a sheriff found a dead man and thought you’d killed him and found out where you’d run to from one of your own kids,” said McAllister. “The kid loves you, wouldn’t hurt you for a fortune, but in her innocence she tells what the sheriff wants to know and he catches you. And we’ll suppose you did it and they prove it on you. Nice game to play on your little daughter, wouldn’t it be?”
The deputy sheriff turned to Mel Lunt.
“How does it strike you, Mel?” he asked.