“Don’t get what?”
“What the joke was about her not doing any gardening.”
“It wasn’t funny. It was just sort of a private joke between us — the way you and Greta probably have private jokes.” Is he ribbing me? Conway wondered.
But the sergeant’s face was guileless. “We don’t have any jokes, Greta and me,” he said. “She hasn’t got a very good sense of humor.” Praise from Caesar, Conway thought.
“Do you mind telling me what this is all about?” Betty asked.
“Nothing,” Conway said shortly. “Sergeant, you were going to—”
But Bauer had taken the gloves from his pocket. “It don’t make sense to me that anybody would care if they did lose one of these gloves,” he said. “Any woman would be glad to get rid of them.”
Conway caught the quick glance Betty flashed at him. “Any woman except Helen,” she said as she examined the gloves. “She could never bear to lose anything — and she never threw anything away.”
Startled at this manifest untruth, Conway looked at her, but she was bending over to get a cigarette from the box on the table. He was utterly bewildered. A moment earlier she had intimated, for Bauer’s benefit, that he was lying; now she had lied, to cover up for him.
“No cigarettes,” she announced. “I’ll really have to get to work on this house. I spent an hour after lunch cleaning the kitchen, and I didn’t even make an impression.” Conway held out a pack of cigarettes, and she took one without meeting his eyes.