“No, I liked her. She was good fun, but that’s all.”
“This guy Bogle says different.”
“You don’t want to believe what he says,” I returned. “You see, he was the little guy’s pal. He thinks Myra killed him and he’ll say anything to get her convicted. He’s prejudiced.”
“Don’t you think she killed him?”
“I’ve told you already,” I said sharply. “Of course she didn’t.”
“I guess you’re the only guy who thinks so. Why, she even says she killed him herself,” and he tapped a sheet of notepaper which I recognized as the note Bogle had taken.
“Well,” I said, uncrossing my legs. “You’ve got what looks like a confession and you’ve got the stained dress. There isn’t much I can do about it.”
“The knife had her finger-prints on it,” Summers said, caressing the back of his head gently. “We found a strand of her hair in the old guy’s coat. Nope, it’s a cinch, Millan, so you’d better be careful.”
“I shrugged. “Well, I can’t help you. I would if I could, but If my story’s too much for you to swallow, I give up.”
He eyed me thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said. “Give. I’ve known you a long time, Millan, and