Endicott looked at him calmly. There was nothing of antagonism in that glance, nothing of submission. It was merely a disinterested, partially humorous, perhaps partially contemptuous appraisal. “I’m sure I don’t know,” he said with just the right inflection in his voice.
He was just the type to really run a business. Not simply caring for the details, but doing the executive work, and making the decisions. He wasn’t a man who would get rattled. He wasn’t one who could be frightened. He made up his mind as to what he was going to do, and he carried through his plans. All of that showed in that instant when the two men stood facing each other.
Kleinsmidt sensed what he was up against. He dropped his bulldozing manner. “Under the circumstances, Endicott, I’m going to want to know what you did last night.”
“When?”
“Well, what were you doing around nine o’clock for instance?”
“I was in a picture show.”
“Where?”
“The Casa Grande Theater.”
“What time did you go into the show?”
“Oh, I don’t know, around quarter to nine — perhaps a little earlier. Yes, come to think of it, I guess it was right after eight-thirty.”