“I’ve got it.” She drew a small black automatic half out of the pocket of her robe.
Druse went over and knelt beside the man, picked up one of his hands. He said slowly: “This man is decidedly dead.”
Mrs. Hanan stood, staring silently at the man on the floor for perhaps thirty seconds. Her face was white, blank. Then she walked unsteadily to a desk against one wall and picked up a whiskey bottle, poured a stiff drink. She said: “I know it.” Her voice was choked, almost a whisper. She drank the whiskey, turned and leaned against the desk, stared at Druse with wide unseeing eyes. “So what?”
“So pull yourself together, and forget about it — we’ve got more important things to think about for a little while.” Druse stood up. “How long ago?...”
She shuddered. “About a half-hour — I didn’t know what to do...”
“Have you tried to reach Crandall? I mean before this happened — right after you came in tonight?”
“Yes — I couldn’t get him.”
Druse went to a chair and sat down. He said: “Mister Hanan has turned this case over to me. Won’t you sit down, and answer a few questions?...”
She sank into a low chair near the desk. “Are you a detective?” Her voice was still very low, strained.
Druse smiled. “I’m an attorney — a sort of extra-legal attorney.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “If we can get your rubies back, and assure your safety, and” — he coughed slightly — “induce Mister Hanan to reimburse the insurance company, you will be entirely satisfied, will you not?”