“Anyone see you come in?”
She shook her head. Fenner thought she had gone a little white. She moved restlessly in the bed. He could see the long outline of her legs under the thin sheet. A lot of the bravado had gone out of her. She said, “You sound like a big policeman askin’ nasty questions.”
Fenner smiled bleakly. “Just rehearsing you, baby,” he said. “You haven’t much of an alibi, have you?”
Glorie sat up in bed. She said, “What—what are you saying?”
Fenner shook his head. “Get under cover. You’re too big a girl for this sort of thing now.”
She pulled the sheet up over her, but she didn’t lie down. “What do you mean—alibi?”
He reached over and picked up one of her shoes. He examined it carefully. The sole was covered with dry blood. He tossed the shoe in her lap. She gave a husky little scream and threw it from her. Then she lay back, put her hands over her face and began to cry.
Fenner went to a cupboard, took out a bottle of Scotch, and gave himself a drink.
He lit a cigarette and took off his hat and coat. It was very hot and close in the room. He walked over to the open window and looked into the deserted street. “You’d better tell me,” he said.
She said, “I don’t know anything about it.”