Chapter Nine
I went to the apartment house where Marian was staying and scouted around for fifteen minutes before I went in. By that time I was pretty well satisfied the place wasn’t being watched.
Marian answered my knock. When she saw who it was, she flung her arms around me and squealed, “Oh, Donald, I’m so glad to see you!”
I patted her shoulder, kicked the door shut behind me, and said, “How are things coming?”
“Swell,” she said. “Everybody’s being wonderful to me. Sometimes I feel like an awful heel not telling them — you know, the—”
I said, “Forget it. You want the murderer to be brought to justice, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if you told them the truth, some smart shyster attorney would tie you up into knots and make a jury, think you were the one who had committed the murder.”
“But they couldn’t. I didn’t have any motive for murdering her.”
“I know,” I said. “They might not convict you of murder, but the guilty party would get away. Sit down. I want to talk with you.”