“It appears that you’ve managed to clear it up very nicely.”
“Oh, sure,” the detective said. “It was just that she didn’t give me a chance to tell her what I really meant. But it’s okay now, eh, Betty?”
“Yes,” she said. “I didn’t understand.”
“It’s just that she don’t look like anybody’s sister-in-law.”
“Very nicely put,” said Conway.
“And she found an apartment, so that fixes everything,” the detective said.
“I don’t know if it does,” she said. “I didn’t tell you this — I can’t move in until Sunday, but I couldn’t find anything else at all — that I could afford, that is. Do you think it will be all right to stay here till then?” She looked at both the men.
“I guess so,” Bauer said cautiously. “I guess two more days can’t do much harm.”
Two more days, Conway thought. Could he cope with her wiles, could he keep from making a slip for two days? He was tormented by the combination of his desire to get her out of the house, to return to the peaceful solitude he had known for just twenty-four hours, and the pleasure which, however unwillingly, he was coming to find in her company.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “it’s all right with me.”