clue . . . we just have to find it!
THE SECRET OF
Terkle fixed Hammond with a cold stare.
“Where’s that derringer now?” Terkle demanded.
“I put it back where I found it,” Hammond said.
“It weren’t on him when I looked,” Terkle gritted. “Soon as the wagon got back, I, uh, laid Mr. Falwell out. Sorry, Miss Lucy, but it had to be done. I kept all his things for you, the wallet an’ such.”
Twister Mobley was listening to the foreman but watching his pard all the while. Eli Hammond was standing very still and very straight, his head slightly raised.
Something about him made Mobley think of a hunting dog that had just caught a scent.