“Maybe,” I said, “but the way it stands, I’ve got no reason for putting in with you. Your Chris is no enemy of mine. I’ve got nothing to gain by helping you frame him.”

She sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot. I don’t suppose what money I could give you would mean much to you now”—she smiled crookedly—“nor my beautiful white body. But aren’t you interested in saving Clyde?”

“Not necessarily.”

She laughed at that. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It might mean I don’t think he needs saving. The police haven’t got much on him. He’s screwy, he was in town the day Julia was killed, and she had been gypping him. That’s not enough to arrest him on.”

She laughed again. “But with my contribution?”

“I don’t know. What is it?” I asked, and went on without waiting for the answer I did not expect. “Whatever it is, you’re being a sap, Mimi. You’ve got Chris cold on bigamy. Sock that to him. There’s no—”

She smiled sweetly and said: “But I am holding that in reserve to use after this if he—”

“If he gets past the murder charge, huh? Well, it won’t work out that way, lady. You can get him about three days in jail. By that time the District Attorney will have questioned him and checked up on him enough to know that he didn’t kill Julia and that you’ve been making a chump of the D. A., and when you spring your little bigamy charge the D. A. will tell you to go jump in the lake, and he’ll refuse to prosecute.”

“But he can’t do that, Nick.”

“Can and will,” I assured her, “and if he can dig up proof that you’re holding out something he’ll make it as tough for you as he can.”

She chewed her lower lip, asked: “You’re being honest with me?”

“I’m telling you exactly what’ll happen, unless district attorneys have changed a lot since my day.”

She chewed her lip some more. “I don’t want him to get off,” she said presently, “and I don’t want to get into any trouble myself.” She looked up at me. “If you’re lying to me, Nick …”

“There’s nothing you can do about it except believe me or disbelieve me.”

She smiled and put a hand on my cheek and kissed me on the mouth and stood up. “You’re such a bastard. Well, I’m going to believe you.” She walked down to the other end of the room and back again. Her eyes were shiny, her face pleasantly excited.

“I’ll call Guild,” I said.

“No, wait. I’d rather—I’d rather see what you think of it first.”

“All right, but no clowning.”

“You’re certainly afraid of your shadow,” she said, “but don’t worry, I’m not going to play any tricks on you.”

I said that would be swell and how about showing me whatever she had to show me. “The others will be getting restless.”

She went around the bed to a closet, opened the door, pushed some clothes aside, and put a hand among other clothes behind them. “That’s funny,” she said.

“Funny?” I stood up. “It’s a panic. It’ll have Guild rolling on the floor.” I started towards the door.

“Don’t be so bad-tempered,” she said. “I’ve got it.” She turned to me holding a wadded handkerchief in her hand. As I approached, she opened the handkerchief to show me a three-inch length of watch-chain, broken at one end, attached at the other to a small gold knife. The handkerchief was a woman’s and there were brown stains on it.

“Well?” I asked.

“It was in her hand and I saw it when they left me with her and I knew it was Clyde’s, so I took it.”

“You’re sure it’s his?”

“Yes,” she said impatiently. “See, they’re gold, silver, and copper links. He had it made out of the first batches of metal that came through that smelting process he invented. Anybody who knows him at all well can identify it—there can’t be another like it.” She turned the knife over to let me see the C M W engraved in it. “They’re his initials. I never saw the knife before, but I’d know the chain anywhere. Clyde’s worn it for years.”

“Did you remember it well enough that you could’ve described it without seeing it again?”

“Of course.”

“Is that your handkerchief?”

“Yes.”

“And the stain on it’s blood?”

“Yes. The chain was in her hand—I told you—and there was some blood on them.” She frowned at me. “Don’t you— You act as if you don’t believe me.”

“Not exactly,” I said, “but I think you ought to be sure you’re telling your story straight this time.”

She stamped her foot. “You’re—” She laughed and anger went out of her face. “You can be the most annoying man. I’m telling the truth now, Nick. I’ve told you everything that happened exactly as it happened.”

“I hope so. It’s about time. You’re sure Julia didn’t come to enough to say anything while you were alone with her?”

“You’re trying to make me mad again. Of course I’m sure.”

“All right,” I said. “Wait here. I’ll get Guild, but if you tell him the chain was in Julia’s hand and she wasn’t dead yet he’s going to wonder whether you didn’t have to rough her up a little to get it away from her.”

She opened her eyes wide. “What should I tell him?”

I went out and shut the door.

24

Nora, looking a little sleepy, was entertaining Guild and Andy in the living-room. The Wynant offspring were not in sight. “Go ahead,” I told Guild. “First door to the left. I think she’s readied up for you.”

“Crack her?” he asked. I nodded.

“What’d you get?”

“See what you get and we’ll put them together and see how they add up,” I suggested.

“O. K. Come on, Andy.” They went out.

“Where’s Dorothy?” I asked.

Nora yawned. “I thought she was with you and her mother. Gilbert’s around somewhere. He was here till a few minutes ago. Do we have to hang around long?”

“Not long.” I went back down the passageway past Mimi’s door to another bedroom door, which was open, and looked in. Nobody was there. A door facing it was shut. I knocked on it.

Dorothy’s voice said: “What is it?”

“Nick,” I said and went in. She was lying on her side on a bed, dressed except for her slippers. Gilbert was sitting on the bed beside her. Her mouth seemed a little puffy, but it may have been from crying: her eyes were red. She raised her head to stare sullenly at me.

“Still want to talk to me?” I asked.

Gilbert got up from the bed. “Where’s Mamma?”

“Talking to the police.” He said something I did not catch and left the room.

Dorothy shuddered. “He gives me the creeps,” she cried, and then remembered to stare sullenly at me again.

“Still want to talk to me?”

“What made you turn against me like that?”

“You’re being silly.” I sat down where Gilbert had been sitting. “Do you know anything about this knife and chain your mother’s supposed to have found?”

“No. Where?”

“What’d you want to tell me?”

“Nothing—now,” she said disagreeably, “except you might at least wipe her lipstick off your mouth.” I wiped it off. She snatched the handkerchief from my hand and rolled over to pick up a package of matches from the table on that side of the bed. She struck a match.

“That’s going to stink like hell,” I said.

She said, “I don’t care,” but she blew out the match. I took the handkerchief, went to a window, opened it, dropped the handkerchief out, shut the window, and went back to my seat on the bed. “If that makes you feel any better.”

“What did Mamma say—about me?”

“She said you’re in love with me.”

She sat up abruptly. “What did you say?”

“I said you just liked me from when you were a kid.”

Her lower lip twitched. “Do—do you think that’s what it is?”

“What else could it be?”

“I don’t know.” She began to cry. “Everybody’s made so much fun about it—Mamma and Gilbert and Harrison—I—”

I put my arms around her. “To hell with them.”