“Don’t be too sure you do. I don’t.”
“But it’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
I said, “Let’s study these clippings before we go jumping to any hasty conclusions.”
We read through all of the clippings, exchanging them with each other. Hale finished reading first.
“Well?” he asked when I’d finished.
I said, “Not necessarily.”
“Bosh!” Hale said. “You can see it all as plain as day. She went out with this bookkeeper — probably another case of a girl wanting a man to marry her, and he refused. She got out of the car on some excuse or another, walked around to the driver’s side, shot Craig twice through the left temple, hid the gun, and came in with this story of the masked bandit who had stepped out of the bush and ordered Craig to throw up his hands. He’d done it. The man had gone through his pockets, and then had ordered Roberta Fenn to walk down the road with him.
“That was more than Craig would stand tor. He started the motor in his car, threw it into gear, and tried to run the man down, but the chap just managed to get to one side. He shot Craig twice in the head as the momentum of the car carried Craig up even with him.
“No one ever questioned the girl’s story. Craig was considered a gentleman and a martyr. One reason police didn’t question Roberta’s story was that there had been two dozen petting-party holdups in the neighborhood within a period of a few months. On several occasions where the girl had been unusually attractive, the bandit had ordered her to walk down the road with him. There had been two other murders—”
Hale paused dramatically, motioned toward the gun, and said, “Well, there you are! It was murder. She got away with it once — and, by George, she tried getting away with it again. This time she can’t make it stick.”