And Mr. Petersen’s:
“Nonsense!”
Nevertheless, he felt obliged now to consider this thing seriously. He sat alone in the kitchen and reflected until bed time, but couldn’t reach any sort of conclusion. Mrs. Hansen was absolutely above suspicion, unless she had suddenly gone mad, and that he couldn’t accept. Sandra never wanted food, and anyway, she would have been discovered. Michael had no opportunities, tramps couldn’t remain invisible, stray dogs wouldn’t rifle the apple barrel, wouldn’t and couldn’t be so nicely discriminating. His mind dwelt upon Minnie, he remembered things he had read or heard about morbid cravings for certain things to eat, about temporary mental derangements.... But that idea filled him with such alarm and uneasiness that he refused to consider it. He evolved a diabolic dog, actually invented excuses for it....
II
The very next day he found out, quite by accident. He was going to lunch at the Eagle House with a rather important client and he hurried home to put on a clean collar and his cherished white flannel trousers, worn only on semi-official occasions. Minnie was taking a bath, so he didn’t even call out to ask her where his things were. She wouldn’t have known anyway. He was accustomed to searching patiently for every article when it was required.
He went through his own bureau drawers and his own closet in vain; then he went to look in Minnie’s appalling wardrobe.
On the shelf there, lying on a piece of newspaper, behind her best hat, lay half a cold leg of lamb.
A corpse could scarcely have terrified him more. In a panic he seized his cap and rushed out of the house as he was; and Minnie never knew he had been home at all.