"And you, Mr.--" Sol turned to the fat man. "You also know about this
palace and everything?"
"I told you," Dawes said testily. "Charlie here's Prince Regent. But
don't let the fancy title fool you. He got no more power than any Knight
of the Realm. He's just too dern fat to do much more'n sit on a throne
and eat grapes. That right, Charlie?"
The fat man giggled.
"Here's the Sheriff," Dawes said.
The Sheriff, a sleepy-eyed citizen with a long, sad face, was rocking on
a porch as they approached his house, trying to puff a half-lit pipe. He
lifted one hand wearily when he saw them.
"Hi, Cookie," Dawes grinned. "Thought you, me, and Charlie would get
Brundage's body outa the house. This here's Mr. Becker; he got another
problem. Mr. Becker, meet Cookie Coogan."
The Sheriff joined the procession, pausing only once to inquire into
Sol's predicament.
He described the hitchhiker incident, but Coogan listened stoically. He
murmured something about the Troopers, and shuffled alongside the
puffing fat man.
Sol soon realized that their destination was a barber shop.
Dawes cupped his hands over the plate glass and peered inside. Gold
letters on the glass advertised: HAIRCUT SHAVE & MASSAGE PARLOR. He
reported: "Nobody in the shop. Must be upstairs."
* * * * *
The fat man rang the bell. It was a while before an answer came.
It was a reedy woman in a housecoat, her hair in curlers, her eyes red
and swollen.
"Now, now," Dawes said gently. "Don't you take on like that, Mrs.
Brundage. You heard the charges. It hadda be this way."
"My poor Vincent," she sobbed.
"Better let us up," the Sheriff said kindly. "No use just lettin' him
lay there, Mrs. Brundage."
"He didn't mean no harm," the woman snuffled. "He was just purely
ornery, Vincent was. Just plain mean stubborn."
"The law's the law," the fat man sighed.
Sol couldn't hold himself in.
"What law? Who's dead? How did it happen?"
Dawes looked at him disgustedly. "Now is it any of _your_ business? I
mean, is it?"
"I don't know," Sol said miserably.
"You better stay out of this," the Sheriff warned. "This is a local
matter, young man. You better stay in the shop while we go up."
They filed past him and the crying Mrs. Brundage.
When they were out of sight, Sol pleaded with her.
"What happened? How did your husband die?"
"Please ..."
"You must tell me! Was it something to do with Armagon? Do you dream
about the place, too?"