Thus Narcotics found them; the woman inert and flaccid upon the bench, the man staring down at her in black abstraction.
VI.
"Suicide? Or did you—" Gerrond paused, delicately. Winstead, the Lensman of Narcotics, said nothing, but looked on intently.
"Neither," Kinnison replied, still studying. "I would have had to, but she beat me to it."
"What d'you mean, 'neither'? She's dead, isn't she? How did it happen?"
"Not yet, and unless I'm more cockeyed even than usual, she won't be. She isn't the type to rub herself out—ever, under any conditions. As to 'how,' that was easy. A hollow false tooth. Simple, but new—and clever. But why? WHY?" Kinnison was thinking to himself more than addressing his companions. "If they had killed her, yes. As it is, it doesn't make any kind of sense—any of it."
"But the girl's dying!" protested Gerrond. "What're you going to do?"