“As a matter of fact, I think I did.” Conway’s mind searched quickly, trying to discover if some trap lay behind the detective’s words. “We’d met very few people since we came out here. Let me look at the list and I’ll see if I forgot anyone.”
Bauer took a piece of paper from his notebook. “What I was wondering,” he said, “didn’t your wife have an address book or a list of phone numbers, or something like that?”
“No — yes, she did.” He had genuinely forgotten for a moment, but when he remembered, there seemed no point in concealing it. “She bought an address book when we first came out here. I don’t know whether I can find it — I haven’t seen it for months.”
“Might as well look.”
As they entered the house, Bauer headed for the stairs. “Let’s try her room first,” he said.
In the tiny hall at the head of the stairs, the detective stopped. “Another thing,” he said. “While I think of it, have you got that glove you went back to the theatre to find?”
Conway stopped in his tracks. “Yes, I think so. Why?”
“I’d like to take a gander at it.”
Conway waited, but no further explanation was forthcoming. Bauer followed him into his room, and watched as he took the glove from his dresser drawer. There’s nothing to worry about, he told himself. You’re in the clear.
Bauer walked to the window with the glove, examined it carefully, and then took from his pocket the mate to it and compared them. Conway watched him narrowly, trying to divine the cause behind this.