“Why, what do you mean?”
“Don’t you see?” I said. “Someone murdered Evaline Harris. It was cruel, ruthless, premeditated murder. The police are virtually without clues, except those you’ve been able to give. When the murderer feels the net tightening about him, the logical thing for him to do is to—” I broke off as I saw the expression on her face. I said, “I was wondering what Mr. Ellis is doing about that.”
“Why,” she said, with a dismayed look, “I don’t think it’s even occurred to him.”
I looked at my watch, and said, “Well, it’s going to occur to him now. I’m going to get in touch with him. You stay right here.”
“I could telephone him,” she said.
“No,” I said. “That’s exactly what I don’t want you to do. You sit right here and don’t say anything. I’m going up to see Mr. Ellis and have a talk with him. I don’t care how nice he is, but he has a crust not arranging for your protection — after all the help you’ve given him, too.”
She said, “I just can’t believe that I’m in any danger, but I see your point.”
I said, “You sit tight. Don’t do a thing. Promise me you won’t leave this apartment until I get back.”
“I promise,” she said.
I went over to the mirror, straightened my hair with a pocket comb, picked up my hat, and said, “Remember, don’t go out until I get back.”