I can't afford to act on
this--mebbe it ain't her signature."
"Meaning that I forged it?" smiled Warden.
"Meanin' what you damned please!" snapped Moreton. "I ain't actin' in
this case till that woman swears she seen what she claims to have
seen."
"She'll swear to it," said Warden, confidently. "Meantime, I'd advise
you to have a talk with Keller. Ask him who brought Della Wharton to the
hotel, and what time she got there." Warden smiled. "I'll see you later,
Sheriff."
Warden went to his office; and, after a time, Moreton strode slowly to
the Willets Hotel, where for a long time he talked with Keller.
When Moreton emerged from the hotel after the talk with Keller his brows
were furrowed and his lips were in a pout. He spent most of the day
sitting in his office, glaring moodily out into the street; and when he
heard the east-bound train rumble in late in the afternoon he drew a
deep breath and got up, muttering lowly:
"It looks mighty like it--for a fact. But Lawler--Oh, hell!"
Within fifteen minutes after the arrival of the east-bound train,
Moreton was sitting at the desk in his office, studying Miss Wharton's
face.
Della had been met at the train by Warden--who now stood just inside the
door of the office, watching her, admiring her self-possession.
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