Had the book slipped out of his pocket while he had been driving home?
What a fool he was!
Of course that was what must have happened. He should have looked in the car first.
He went to the front door, opened it and started down the path towards the garage when he saw Parker at the gate.
He stopped short, looking at Parker who came up the path in the gathering dusk, his head held low, a stoop to his shoulders.
“I want to talk to you,” he said as he came up to Ken.
“Come in,” Ken said, and led the way into the lounge. He turned on the light. “I’m sorry the place is in such a mess. I lost something, and I’ve been hunting for it.”
Parker went over to an armchair and sank into it. His fat, usually red face looked flabby and pale, and his hands were unsteady as he rested them on the arms of the chair.
“If you’ve got a drink…” he said.
“Sure,” Ken said, and fixed two highballs. “That detective fellow was here. He wanted your address. I tried to call you, but he got around to you too fast.”