“I understand,” Mason told her.
He could see her profile outlined against the illumination which filtered in through the car windows. Her manner was quick, alert, intelligent; her voice was well controlled. She evidently had ample speaking range to make her voice expressive when she chose, yet she resorted to no tricks of emphasis or expression to win sympathy. She spoke rapidly, and managed to convey the impression that, regardless of what her personal feelings in the matter might be, she was keeping her emotions entirely divorced from those events which she considered it necessary to report.
“I’m a librarian,” she said, “employed in the San Molinas library. For various reasons, I have never married. My position gives me at once an opportunity to cultivate a taste for the best in literature, and to learn something of character. I have nothing in common with the younger set who find alcoholic stimulation the necessary prerequisite to any attempt at conversation or enjoyment.
“I first met the man whom I now know as Fremont C. Sabin about two months ago. He entered the library, asked for books dealing with certain economic subjects. He told me he never read newspapers because they were merely a recital of crimes and political propaganda. He read news magazines for his general information, was interested in history, economics, science and biographies. He read some of the best fiction. His questions and comments were unusually intelligent, and the man impressed me. I realized, of course, that he was much older than I, and, quite apparently, was out of work. His clothes were well-kept, but had seen far better days. I’m dwelling on this because I want you to understand the situation.”
Mason nodded.
“He told me his name was George Wallman; that he had been employed as a grocery clerk, had saved a little money, and purchased a store of his own; that, after making a living out of it for several years, he found himself forced out of business by a combination of unfortunate circumstances. His original capital was gone. He had tried to get work and was unable to find any because, as he had been so frequently told, not only were there no jobs, but in the event there had been, employers would prefer to fill them with younger men.”
“You had no inkling of his real identity?” Mason asked.
“None whatever.”
“Do you know why he chose to assume this fictitious personality?” Mason asked.
“Yes,” she said shortly.