Rose said, yes, it wasn’t any wonder, was it?, her voice kind of flat. “Well, I really hadn’t planned on staying over tonight, but—”

“And you don’t have to,” Myra declared. “I’ll just take Lennie and drive you home myself.”

“Now, that’s not necessary,” Rose said quickly. “I don’t mind—”

“And I don’t mind taking you. I really don’t, darling. So you just get yourself ready—‘Lennie, go wash your face’—and we’ll be on our way.”

“Well,” said Rose. “Well, all right, Myra, dear.”

They left a few minutes later.

I yawned and stretched and turned over on my side, all set to go to sleep for real. I started to doze, just started to, and I heard someone coming up the stairs.

It was a man, judging by the footsteps. I started to turn back on my side again, thinking, well, t’heck with him, it’s Sunday afternoon an’ I’m entitled to a little rest. But you just can’t ignore no one when you’re sheriff, Sunday or whatever day it is. So I flung my feet over the side of the bed, and got up.

I went out into the living room and flung open the hall door, just as he was about to knock on it.

He was a city-dressed fella, tall and thin with a nose like a fishhook and a mouth about as big as a bee’s-ass.

“Sheriff Corey?” He flashed an identification card at me. “I’m Barnes, the Talkington Detective Agency.”

He smiled, his bee’s-ass mouth stretching enough to show one tooth, and it was like getting a glimpse of an egg coming out of a pullet pigeon. I said I was plumb proud to meet him.

“So you’re with the Talkington Agency,” I said. “Why, god-dang if I ain’t heard a lot about you people! Let’s see now, you broke up that big railroad strike, didn’t you?”

“That’s right.” He showed me the tooth again. “The railroad strike was one of our jobs.”

“Now, by golly, that really took nerve,” I said. “Them railroad workers throwin’ chunks of coal at you an’ splashin’ you with water, and you fellas without nothin’ to defend yourself with except shotguns an’ automatic rifles! Yes, sir, god-dang it, I really got to hand it to you!”

“Now, just a moment, Sheriff!” His mouth came together like a buttonhole. “We have never—”

“And them low-down garment workers,” I said. “God-dang, you really took care of them, didn’t you? People that threw away them big three-dollar-a-week wages on wild livin’ and then fussed because they had to eat garbage to stay alive! I mean, what the heck, they was all foreigners, wasn’t they, and if they didn’t like the good ol’ American garbage, why didn’t they go back where they came from?”

“Sheriff! Sheriff Corey!”

“Yeah?” I said. “You got something on your mind, Mr. Barnes?”

“Certainly I have something on my mind! Why else would I have come here? Now—”

“You mean you just didn’t drop in for a little chat?” I said. “Just to maybe show me your medals for shootin’ people in the back an’—”