"Hello, Mrs. Terrill!" said Thompson. "Busy day for you, eh? Why
don't you make Bill help you with the wash?"

"Bill's got enough to do washin' his innerds---with liquor!" gruffly
retorted the woman, who seemed to be greatly vexed, even angry, at
the mention of her husband's name. "And just as if I haven't put
up with him time and time again about it! I won't do it no more!
And him daring to complain about my cookin' and my not mendin' his
clothes! Why, this mornin' he come home late, with his coat all
torn and his-----"

"What?" almost shouted Thompson. "What did you say, there m'am?"

---"I said his coat was all torn," repeated Mrs. Terrill, pleased
to find a listener who appeared to be sympathetic. "You know how
'ternal careless he is, Mr. Thompson, and how much trouble he gives me."

"I do, I do indeed." The constable slowly drew out of his pocket
the clews Tom had given him. "Could this be a piece out o' Bill's
coat?" he asked in an offhand manner calculated to avert suspicion.

"That's it!" exclaimed Bill's long-suffering wife. "What of it?"
she added quickly. "Anything wrong? I guess he must've got into
a fight, his face was so battered, but I hope-----"

"Hold on, Mrs. Terrill! Enough said!" interposed the constable,
who felt sorry for the way he had led her into a trap. "I made
a bet about these rags, and now I'm going to put it up to Bill.
Do you know where I can find him?"