“Stay put, sister,” I said, drawing up a chair. I sat down.
She looked me over, and then flopped back on the divan. I’d torn her shirt and a shoulder peeped through. It was a nice shoulder, white and firm.
“You think I killed Herrick,” I said, “but I didn’t.”
She continued to eye me savagely, and said nothing.
“Killeano’s mob killed him, and tried to pin it on me,” I went on.
“You killed him all right,” she said, and added some fancy names. Her language would have turned a stevedore pale.
“Use your head,” I said. “I’ve just arrived here. I never saw Herrick before until I met him in the Casino for a couple of minutes. He asked me to get out of town because he thought I’d cause trouble, and Killeano made that the excuse for killing him and framing me. Can’t you see how simple it is? Why should I want to kill Herrick? Think, Tutz, work on it. If you were Killeano and you wanted Herrick out of the way, wouldn’t you spring the killing when a guy with my reputation blows into town? It was a gift.”
She looked doubtful.
“Killeano wanted him out of the way all right,” she muttered. “It could be, but I don’t believe it.”
I told her the story, how Speratza had invited me to the