CHAPTER XXI
GONE AWAY!
McFluke's eyes flickered at the question. His body appeared to sink inward. Then he straightened, and flung back his wide shoulders, and glowered at Racey Dawson.
"I ran into a door this morning," said the saloon-keeper in a tone of the utmost confidence.
"Oh, you ran into a door, did you," Racey observed, sweetly. "And what particular door did you run into?"
"The front door."
"That one?" Racey indicated the door of the barroom.
"That one."
"We'll just take a look at that door."
Accompanied by the deeply interested sheriff, who was beginning to sniff his quarry like the old bloodhound he was, Racey crossed to the barroom door. He looked at the door. He looked at the sheriff. The sheriff looked only at the door.