"Miss Walton to you, do you hear, Rale?"
He eyed her a moment venomously.
"Gettin' particular, ain't you?" he sneered. "Any one would think—" His tongue ceased suddenly to wag as she dipped the floor brush in the dirty water of the bucket and drew back her arm.
"Yes?" prompted Hazel, her eyes beginning to glitter with a dangerous light.
"Nothing," capitulated the district attorney and tried to smile. "I was thinking of a joke I heard last night, Miss Walton."
"That's better," approved Hazel.
"Look here," said the district attorney, "if Bill Wingo ain't here, what did you go to town for to-day and buy all those supplies?"
Genuine astonishment showed on Hazel's countenance. "Those supplies were my regular supplies. Don't you suppose I buy something to eat once in a while?"
"Queer you should have come in and got that stuff the day after Tip O'Gorman was murdered."
"We figure," said Sam Larder, "that Bill Wingo will have to eat right along, and that unless he's left the country, it's natural he'll get his supplies from his friends, and we know that you drove in town and bought supplies this morning."