Ken Lacey busted in. He was wild-eyed, heaving for breath. He grabbed me by the shoulders and started shaking me.

“Have you done it yet?” he said. “God-dang it, have you already gone an’ done it?”

“Wh-what?” I tried to shake free of him. “Have I gone an’ done what?”

“You know what, god-dang it! What I told you to do! Now, you answer me, you consarned idjit, or I’ll beat it out of you!”

Well, sir, it looked to me like he was pretty excited about something. Might get himself in such a tizzy that he’d keel over with the frantics. So I just pushed him into my office and made him set down at my desk, and I struck a lamp and made him take a big drink of whiskey. And then, when he seemed to be calmed down a little, I asked him just what it was all about.

“What am I supposed to have done, Ken? The way you’re actin’, you’d think I’d killed someone.”

“Then you didn’t,” he said, his eyes hard on my face. “You didn’t kill anyone.”

“Kill anyone?” I said. “Why, what a riddicerlous question! Why for would I kill anyone?”

“And you didn’t? You didn’t kill them two pimps that was sassing you?”

“Ken,” I said. “How many times have I got to tell you? Why for would I kill anyone?”

He heaved a big sigh, and relaxed for the first time. Then, after another long drink, he slammed down the jug and began to cuss his deputy, Buck.

“God-dang, just wait until I get hold of him! Just you wait! I’ll kick his mangy ass s’hard he’ll have to take off his boots to comb his hair!”

“Why, what’d he do?” I said. “What’s old Buck gone an’ done?”

“He frazzled me, that’s what! Got me so god-danged excited an’ worried that I was plumb out of my mind,” Ken said, cussing Buck up one side and down the other. “Well, it’s my own god-danged fault, I reckon. Had the proof right before me that he was a low-down maniac, but broad-minded like I am, I went and closed my eyes to it.”

“How come?” I said. “What you mean you had the proof, Ken?”

“I mean I caught him reading a book, that’s what! Yes, sir, I caught him red-handed. Oh, he claimed he was only lookin’ at the pitchers, but I knew he was lyin’.”

“Well, I’ll be dogged!” I said. “I will be doubledogged! But what’s Buck got to do with you being down here?”

So Ken told me how it had happened.

It seemed like after he left me, Buck went back to the office and began to fret out loud. Wonderin’ whether I’d really be crazy enough to kill those pimps, which would leave Ken in a peck of trouble. The way Buck saw it—in his out-loud worryin’—Ken had told me I should kill ‘em, and if I went ahead and did it he’d be just as guilty as I was.