It was a shot in the dark, but it seemed to be worth taking, and Simon felt an inward leap of optimism as he saw that at least he had come close to his mark. Kerr’s hand jumped involuntarily so that the ice in his highball gave a sharp tinkle against the glass, and his face turned a couple of shades lighter in color.
“What sort of gun was she shot with?”
“A thirty-two Colt automatic.”
Kerr took it with his eyes. There was a long moment’s silence while he seemed to search either for something to say or for the voice to say it.
“It could have been my gun.” He formed the words at last. “I lent it to her this evening.”
“Oh?”
“She asked me if I had a gun I could lend her.”
“Why did you let her have it if you thought she was going to shoot herself?”
“I didn’t think so at the time. She told me she was going to meet someone that she was scared of, but she didn’t tell me who it was, and she wouldn’t let me stay with her. She was rather overwrought and very mysterious about it. I couldn’t get anything out of her. But I never thought about suicide — then.”
Simon’s blue eyes held him relentlessly through a cool drift of cigarette smoke.