“Me.”
“I don’t get it,” Kosling said.
“Any label on that music box, any place that would indicate the dealer, anything that—”
“I wouldn’t know,” Kosling said. “I am familiar with its appearance only through the sense of touch. It’s strange, you asking who else I’d told about being afraid Josephine Dell had lost her memory because of that accident. I remember now Jerry Bollman asked me that same question.”
“You told him you’d talked with Thinwell?”
“Yes. I have a doctor friend and Thinwell suggested I take him and go to see Miss Dell personally and ask her questions without letting on that the man with me was a doctor — but first I should make absolutely certain that she was the one who had sent me that music box. Thinwell said that it just might have been someone else. But I don’t see how it could have been. No, I’d never told anyone else about—”
“There was no note with the music box?” Bertha asked.
“No. The note was with the flowers. The music box was just delivered like I said, without any note.”
Bertha started excitedly for the door, caught herself, turned back, stretched, yawned deliberately, and said, “Well, after all, I guess you’ve gone over things until you’re tired. What do you say we turn in?”
“Wasn’t there something in what I just said, something that made you excited?”