"You're a dandy little ol' explainer, Carroll. But you've forgotten one other important item."
"What is it?"
"The address Mrs. Lawrence gave—981 East End avenue. That address was a stall—we know it was a stall. We were hot on that end of it the night the body was found. And if those two people were trying to get home, Carroll—if Warren was already in the cab and Mrs. Lawrence gave the address—and if she wanted to get away from Warren and safe at home as soon as she could—she'd never have ordered Walters to drive to 981 East End avenue!"
Carroll did not answer. There was no answer possible. Leverage's logic was irrefutable. And finally Carroll rose to his feet and slipped into his heavy overcoat. Leverage's eyes were turned kindly upon him.
"Where are you going, David!"
"I'm going to play my last trump. If it doesn't uncover something—I throw up my hands. Laugh at me if you will, Eric—rail at me for being chicken-hearted, for playing hunches too strongly—but I have an idea that Mrs. Lawrence did not kill Warren. Don't ask me how or why? I don't know—I admit that frankly. But I've always banked on my knowledge of human nature, Leverage—and my instinct has never yet betrayed me. Just now it is forcing me to give this woman every chance in the world to clear herself. I am hoping that circumstances will allow me to bring this case to a conclusion without making public her connection with it—the elopement she was planning."
"You do believe that part of the story, then: that she was going to elope with Warren?"
"I do. I don't want to—but I'm honest with myself."
"Then," exclaimed Leverage with a slight touch of exasperation in his manner—"who in thunder could have killed Warren if she didn't? And when?"
"That," said Carroll simply, "is what I hope to find out."