Whispering Smith
“That’s all; go back to the porch,” directed Whispering Smith. McCloud obeyed orders.
Marion, alone in the living-room, was waiting for the inquisitor, and her face wore a look of triumph. “You are not such a mind-reader after all, are you? I told you they weren’t.”
“I told you they were,” contended Whispering Smith.
“She says they are not,” insisted Marion.
“He says they are,” returned Whispering Smith, “And, what’s more, I’ll bet my saddle against the shop they are. I could be mistaken in anything but that laugh.”
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