ping his hands from behind his head.

"I'll do that little thing, Sheriff," he announced mildly. "Miss
Vorhis has already told us that she has not seen Foy since yesterday
noon. That is quite sufficient."

Silence.

"This makes me fidgety. Somebody say something, quick--anything!"
begged Pringle. "All right, then; I will. Let's go back--we've dropped
a stitch. That goes about me being a liar and a damned one, Sheriff;
but I'm hurt to have you think I'm a cur-dog. You're the sheriff,
doin' your duty, as you so aptly observed. And you've done took my gun
away. But if bein' a cur-dog should happen to vex me--honest, Sheriff,
I'm that sensitive that I'll tell you now--not hissing or gritting or
gnashing my teeth--just telling you--the first time I meet you in a
strictly private and unofficial way I'm goin' to remold you closer to
my heart's desire!"

"You brazen hussy! You know you lied!"

"You're still harpin' on that, Sheriff? That doesn't make it any
easier to be a cur-dog. How did you know I lied? You say so,
mighty positive--but what are your reasons? Why don't you tell your
associates? There is an honest man in this room. I am not sure there
are not two--"

Anastacio's eyes again removed themselves from the ceiling.

"If you mean me--and somehow I am quite clear as to that--"

"I mean Mr. Breslin."

"Oh, him--of course!" said Anastacio in a shocked voice. "Breslin, by
all means, for the one you were sure of. But the second man, the
one you had hopes of--who should that be but me? I thank you. I am
touched. I am myself indifferent honest, as Shakespere puts it."

The sheriff licked his dry lips.

"If you think I am going to stay here to be insulted--"

"You are!" taunted John Wesley Pringle. "You'll stay right here. What?
Leave me here to tell what I have to say to an honest man and a half?
Impossible! You'll not let me out of your sight."

"My amateur Ananias," interrupted Anastacio dispassionately, "you are,
unintentionally, perhaps, doing me half of a grave injustice. In this
particular instance--for this day and date only--I am as pure as a
new-mown hay. To prevent all misapprehension let me say now that I
never thought Foy killed Dick Marr."

"In heaven's name, why?" demanded Breslin.

"My honest but thick-skulled friend, let me put in my oar," implored
the Major. "Let me show you that Matt Lisner never thought Foy was
guilty. Foy said last night, before the killing, that he was coming up
here,