“No!” he said, his voice shaking. “It’s all right with me if I never see another Pekinese again in my life.”
He went down the stairs at a stumbling run.
IV
A few minutes to half-past eight the next morning, Ken stopped his car at the corner of Marshall Avenue where he could see down the road. He waited a few minutes, then he saw Parker open his gate and come towards him.
The usual spritely snap had gone out of Parker’s walk. He came towards Ken as if it were an effort to drag one foot after the other. He looked pale, haggard and depressed.
Ken got out of the car.
“I thought I’d give you a lift to the bank,” he said awkwardly.
Parker started and stared at him.
“Of all the damn nerve!” he said angrily. “You can’t go to the bank! The police are looking for you. Now look here, Holland, you’ve got to give yourself up. I can’t have you with me all day, not knowing when the police are coming to arrest you. I won’t have it!”
“Keep your shirt on,” Ken said. “I’ve been to the police and explained. They caught the killer last night, and I’m in the clear.”