She hung up the telephone. Her eyes swung around to rivet on me. They seemed as glittering as her diamonds. “Donald, they’re turning on the heat.”
“What?” I asked.
“Santa Carlotta has telephoned the police here asking for co-operation. They’ve found a witness to a hit-and-run case. The witness has given the licence number of the automobile. It’s the agency car. They looked it up on the registrations.”
I said, “I didn’t think he’d go that far.”
She said, “You’re in a spot, lover. They’ll railroad you sure as hell. Bertha will stick by you and give you what assistance she can, but the case will be tried in Santa Carlotta. It’s a felony. They’ll pack the jury.”
“When,” I asked, “did it happen?”
“Day before yesterday.”
“The agency car was stored in a garage,” I said. I have a signed receipt for the storage.
“The police came. They looked it up. The garage attendant says you came and took the car out after it had been in less than twelve hours, that you were gone with it for about two hours, and then brought it back, that you seemed excited. He doesn’t know you by name, but he’s given a description.”
I said, “The damn crook threatened to do that, but I didn’t think he would.”