Nate's hand pushed the sliding weight several notches along the scale beam. Red Herring, the town marshal, slouching with seeming aimlessness against a showcase at the other end of the counter, covertly watched the girl.
"Somebody killed Tip O'Gorman in his own house last night," said Nate.
Hazel wondered why Nate's eyes never left her face. "Tip O'Gorman! He was one of Uncle Tom's friends. Who did it?"
Nate's eyes were fairly devouring her. The man looked positively pleased. "They don't know yet. But—" He paused.
She waited. What was he goggling and boggling at? "Well?"
"They found Bill Wingo's quirt on the floor beside the body and right inside the door a snakeskin hat-band the whole town knows belongs to Bill."
Hazel's cheeks began to glow. "That doesn't prove anything," she declared in a level voice. "Bill owns three quirts to my knowledge, and he hasn't worn that snake hatband since last July. It began to stretch then and was always working up off the crown, and he couldn't tighten it without ruining the skin, so he stopped wearing it."
"It worked off the crown once too often last night," offered Nate.
Hazel's black eyes were glittering through slitted eyelids. Really, Nate Samson should have been warned.
"You think Bill did it?" asked Hazel Walton.