“Not a thing,” I told him. “You’ve been a great help. Bertha will certainly appreciate it.”
The blonde shook hands with me. “Better stay for some coffee,” she invited.
“No, thanks, I’m going to try and get some rest for the balance of the day. I’ve been putting in enough of my Sunday on work.”
“Yes, it would seem so,” Elgin said. He was reading the account of the love-tryst, suicide-pact in the newspaper.
“What is it, Bob?” the blonde asked with languid disinterest.
“Just the same old murder-suicide business in a motor court.”
“My God,” she drawled, “why do the men have to kill ’em?”
“Because they love ’em,” Elgin said.
Her comment consisted of one word.
I said, “Well, I’ll be going.”