Then Babbitts spoke up:
"Don't criminals, no matter how careful they are, often overlook some small clew that maybe is the very thing that gives them away?"
"Often," said Mr. Whitney. "In most crimes there's a curious lack of attention to detail. The large matters are well conceived and skillfully carried out. And then some minor point is neglected, sometimes forgotten, sometimes not realized for its proper value."
He got up and shook himself like a big bear and we all rose to our feet. I was feeling pretty fine, not only the relief of having delivered the goods, but proud of myself for getting through the interview so well. Mr. Whitney added to it by saying:
"You're a pretty smart girl, Miss Morganthau. You don't know and I don't know yet the full value of the work you've done for me and my client. But whatever the outcome may be you've shown an energy and keenness of mind that is as surprising as it is unusual."
I just swelled up with importance and didn't know what to say. Behind Mr. Whitney I could see Babbitts' face, all beaming and grinning, and I was so glad he was there to hear. And then—just when I was at the top-notch of my pride—Mr. George Whitney, who'd been silent for a while, said suddenly:
"If you don't mind me asking, Miss Morganthau, I'd like to know what lucky chance made you listen in to that conversation between Miss Hesketh and the Unknown Man."
Believe me I came down to earth with a thud. How could I tell them? Say I listened to everything in the hope of hearing Jack Reddy talking to Sylvia. I looked down on the floor, feeling my cheeks getting as red as fire.
"Go ahead," said Babbitts. "Don't be afraid to say anything."
"We're as close here as the confessional," said old Mr. Whitney, smiling at me like a father.