McAllister Makes War Read Free Page B

that as meaning that though they had not been engaged there had been some sort of an understanding between them. He wondered if this was the lady Carson had mentioned.
    â€œDo you know a man called Will Drummond?”
    â€œWhy, yes I do. Though what that has to do with I don’t know what your name is, sir, but I did not come here to answer questions, but to ask them.” Her eyes flashed. McAllister reckoned Art must have had his hands full with this one. On second thoughts, he reckoned he wouldn’t mind at all having his hands full of her.
    â€œAsk ’em,” he said.
    â€œWhat do you intend to do about the killing of Art Malloy?”
    â€œThat’s a fair question.”
    â€œPerhaps you’d be good enough to answer it.”
    â€œSure. I intend to catch the men who did it and if I don’t shoot them dead, I reckon they’ll hang.”
    â€œThat won’t happen with you sitting here.”
    â€œIt’ll happen when I get around.”
    â€œThen I suggest you start.”
    â€œAn’ I suggest, ma’am, that you go about your business and quit teaching your grandmother how to suck eggs.”
    She started back at his rudeness.
    â€œThere’s no call for you to be insulting. Mr. Malloy was a good friend of ours and -”
    â€œIt might interest you to know, ma’am, that Art was a good friend of mine, too. Never fear, Miss Penshurst, you’ll get your murderers ... on a plate.”
    â€œI wish I could believe that.”
    â€œNow perhaps you could tell me some more about Mr. Drummond.”
    â€œWhat has he to do with this?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m tryin’ to find out.”
    â€œI fail to see any connection.”
    â€œI didn’t say there was one,’ McAllister told her. “I’m tryin’ to find out if there was.”
    â€œI assure you that Will Drummond had nothing to do with Art Malloy’s death.”
    â€œMaybe he didn’t,” McAllister said, “but I want to know all about everybody in this town that hated Art and there’s a good few of them.”
    â€œWhat makes you think Mr. Drummond hated Art?” She looked a little frightened now, though the indignation was still there.
    â€œBecause Art was in love with you and you’re very beautiful.”
    She flushed red and lowered her eyes.
    â€œWhat makes you think Art was in love with me?”
    â€œOne look at you is enough to convince me.”
    She turned half away from him.
    â€œI don’t think I care for this conversation.”
    â€œDon’t like it much myself. Now Drummond – did he ever show hate for Art?”
    She hesitated again.
    â€œHe didn’t like him. But that doesn’t mean he hated him. Why, if you knew Will Drummond, you’d know that he wasn’t capable of murder.”
    â€œEverybody is capable of murder, Miss Penshurst. To either do it or hire somebody to do it.”
    â€œYour suggestion is vile.”
    â€œWhy did Drummond hate Art?”
    The question hung for a moment between them. She clenched and unclenched her hands.
    â€œI won’t admit he hated him.”
    â€œWhy did he dislike him, then?”
    â€œI suppose - oh, I don’t know. If you had known both men you’d have seen how different they were. They were opposites.”
    McAllister said: “The opposite to Art would be something pretty unpleasant. He was straight and he was honest.”
    â€œI know that. I didn’t mean opposite in that way. I meant... it’s not easy to say this, not with Art dead, but Will Drummond is a gentleman. He has nice manners, likes literature and the arts. Art wasn’t like that. He was ... rough.”
    â€œArt was the gentlest man I ever knew.”
    â€œIt was the way he lived ... with guns.”
    McAllister held his temper.
    â€œAll right, ma’am,” he said, “you’ve said your piece and I get your drift. You want