"There could be considerable truth in what Jim has said," Eaton conceded. "But I agree with Aristotle too, in a way. You might say that each opinion is a kind of half-truth. The trouble is, when you try to fit the two parts together you run into more trouble. I still say—and this really hasn't too much to do with what we've just been talking about—that the man who killed Helen Lathrup and Ruth Porges was probably mentally unbalanced. It has all the earmarks of that kind of double slaying."
"I'm not convinced of that," Macklin said. "And what makes you so sure the murderer was a man. It could have been a woman."
"I'm afraid I agree with Mr. Eaton," Hansen said.
Macklin regarded him steadily for a moment. "I don't think you do," he said.
"What's that?" Hansen's color rose a little and he returned Macklin's stare almost angrily.
"You've been agreeing with Mr. Eaton all along," he said. "And so has Fred. But I've a feeling you're really on my side."
"What makes you say that? Why should I lie about it?"
Macklin turned to Eaton. "If he tells you what he really thinks and why ... will that be all right? I mean, you won't mind his speaking frankly?"
Eaton looked puzzled. "Why should I mind?"
"Because I don't think he has too much to go on, and neither have I. If I told you what I suspect, from the few talks I had with Gerstle and things he let slip out I'd have to do an awful lot of guessing. And I think Tim's been hesitating to speak frankly for the same reason."