. . ."
What other technical elucidation might have followed was lost in a
thunderous crashing of the piano keys as Florence Engle strove to drown
the man's utterance and succeeded so well that for an instant he sat
gaping at her.
"I can't stand that man!" Florence said sharply to Norton, and though
the words did not travel across the room, Virginia was surprised that
even an individual so completely armored as Caleb Patten could fail to
grasp the girl's meaning.
When Florence had pounded her way through a noisy bit of "jazz," Caleb
Patten, with one of his host's cigars lighted, was leaning a little
forward in his chair, alert to seize the first opportunity of snatching
conversation by the throat.
"Kid Rickard admits killing Bisbee," he said to Norton. "What are you
going to do about it? The first thing I heard when I got in from a
professional call a little while ago was that Rickard was swaggering
around town, saying that you wouldn't gather him in because you were
afraid to."
The sheriff's face remained unmoved, though the others looked curiously
to him and back to Patten, who was easy and complacent and vaguely
irritating.
"I imagine you haven't seen Jim Galloway since you got in, have you?"
Norton returned quietly.
"No," said Patten. "Why? What has Galloway got to do with it?"
"Ask him.
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