“But, Sergeant, what made you think there was something out of line about withdrawing the money? How did you know about it, anyway?”
“I kept thinking about those gloves — it didn’t seem kosher, going to all that trouble to find one. So I wondered if maybe she had some idea in the back of her mind, that night, where she wanted to get away from you for a little while, so she sends you on this fool’s errand. Naturally, I don’t know what the idea is — I need more facts. Well, I got a pretty good pair of eyes in my head, and yesterday I see a bank envelope in her drawer. When you got the facts about people’s money, you got one of the most important facts about anybody. So, I check with the bank this morning and find out she made the withdrawal the day before she was killed. Okay, so that’s a fact. But” — he shook his head sadly — “the trouble is, it don’t fit in right — at least not the way I thought it was going to.” He cast off the momentary blow to his apperception. “But you’ll find out one thing about Detective Sergeant Lester R. Bauer — when he’s not right, he’s the first one to admit it. Of course, it don’t happen often.”
“By the way,” Conway said, “have you found Taylor yet?”
“No, but we will.” As he went down the steps, the walk and voice of the detective were equally dispirited. “Not that I think it makes much difference.”
By late afternoon the more acute agonies in Conway’s skull had subsided, and he walked to the market to stock up on food. When he returned he went in the kitchen door, stowed away his purchases, and then, walking through the dining room, heard voices. On the patio, and apparently on the best of terms, were Betty and the sergeant. The increasingly familiar terror crept over him: what had the girl told Bauer? They could not have had much time together, but he should not have let them be together at all. Or was this not a mere coincidence? Had she perhaps phoned the detective, met him earlier, and been brought back by him? He debated whether to try to eavesdrop, but the voices were too low to be distinct through the closed door. There was no alternative: he had to interrupt before more damage was done, try to learn what had already transpired. He unlocked the door and stepped out to the patio.
“This looks very cozy,” he said. “I didn’t notice your car.”
“It’s across the street. I was just driving by when I happened to notice Betty sitting on the front porch.”
“You forgot to leave the door on the latch,” she said, but there was no reproach in her voice.
“Sorry.”
“So I wondered why she was sitting there, and it looked like a good chance to clear up the misunderstanding we had yesterday.”