“When you check Bassett’s gun, and make Padgett and Hazel Winters come clean to keep clear of the murder charge themselves, you’ll have proof enough.”
There was more, a lot more, and when they finally cleared out, Sylvester Sneed went to bed — and didn’t sleep. He felt too strong, too big. He daydreamed.
The next morning his head felt thick, his mouth fuzzy. His eyes were red-rimmed, tired. The cream of wheat was even more tasteless than usual.
He looked up. “Maggie, dear, couldn’t we have some ham and eggs some morning?”
She gave him a withering glance over the top of the paper. “Ham? With all this meat rationing you want ham? Don’t you know there’s a war on?”
The mighty Sneed said meekly, “Yes, dear.”