“Attaboy!” Carlton said. “I knew you had a human streak in you.”
“What the hell did you come to California for?” Sellers asked.
“I tell you, I wanted to see my wife, I was lonely.”
“Why didn’t you let her know you were coming so she’d be meeting you?”
“I’m damned if I know,” Carlton said. “I just had a hunch that something was wrong, that she was in some sort of a jam.”
He sneered into his drink and said, “The old sub-conscious. Good old mental telepathy. Thought she was in trouble and needed a helping hand from her husband!”
Sellers said, “Damn it, you came here because you had a hunch. You’ve admitted that you were suspicious of Dover Fulton. You started looking him up. You found out that he was with your wife. You trailed them to that auto court. You busted in there and did some talking and told them you were through; that as far as Dover Fulton was concerned, he’d taken your woman and now he could keep her. You stalked out.
“Your wife didn’t really care for Fulton, except as someone to play around with. She loved you, but she wanted just a little variety. So when she went on her vacation, she wanted to do a little playing. She…”
Carlton came up out of the chair. “Damn you,” he said, “watch what you’re saying! I don’t give a damn if you are a cop, I’ll throw this drink in your face!”
“You do it, and you’ll be flattened out as though a steam roller had gone over you,” Sellers said.