I do.' 'YOU are not much,' said Miss Abbey Potterson, knitting her brows again with disdain.
'But I was his pardner.

Mind you, Miss Abbey, I was his pardner.

As such I know more of the ins and outs of him than any person living does.
Notice this! I am the man that was his pardner, and I am the man that suspects him.' 'Then,' suggested Miss Abbey, though with a deeper shade of perplexity than before, 'you criminate yourself.' 'No I don't, Miss Abbey.

For how does it stand?
It stands this way.

When I was his pardner, I couldn't never give him satisfaction.