“You're sure?”
“Perfectly.”
“Looks nearer green to me. But if it's blue, I've seen it before.”
“Where?”
“The day I was at Spencer's. There was a girl there, the old man's sister-in-law, and she wore this dress.”
“Are you perfectly sure, Smiley?”
“Well—dresses aren't in my line, but—yes, I'm sure. I noticed it because her eyes were blue too—and there was this white figure in it. Her name is Estelle. She waited on table, and—”
“Go on—don't stop.”
“Wait up,” said Wilson. “If you've got it identified, I'm going to quit burning up these matches. There are only about half a dozen left.”
“All right. Put it out.” And they talked on in the dark, seated, Dick and Beveridge on the tongue of a hay-wagon, Wilson on an inverted bucket, Harper on the floor.