“Yair.” I nodded as if he’d finally convinced me. “I guess it would, Tim. Unless you verified that report about Al Gowriss’s being in the house.”
Schneider laughed scornfully. “They had a teletype, downtown. From Trenton, New Jersey. Gowriss was identified as one of three men who stuck up a filling-station an’ filled the attendant with lead. About six o’clock tonight, the holdup was.”
Tim added, “In my opinion, Maxie didn’t see this hophead at all. He give me so many details he began contradictin’ himself. I think he just wanted t’ feel important.”
“Common failing.” I heard loud talk in the corridor. When the door opened to let in half a dozen more of the special assistants, I went into the other bedroom. No one followed me or heard me when I opened the door, stepped out into the corridor.
Technically I wasn’t under arrest. But they could have held me for balking them on Auguste, on Ruth. Hacklin wouldn’t let me get away without a stance down at Criminal Courts. I had other fish to fry.
It was long after Mrs. Munster’s quitting-time; the only employee in the housekeeper’s office was Martha Canaday, a spinsterish gal of sixty with thick-lensed eyeglasses.
“This afternoon one of the maids turned in a soiled bedspread that had spots of wax on it, Martha. I want to know what room it came from.”
“But Mister Vine,” she complained, “I couldn’t possibly find out until the girls come in tomorrow — I mean this afternoon — it’s Sunday already.”
“That’s right. Leave word with Ada, she’s to ask each maid before the girls go on the floors. Don’t forget it. It’s important.” I wasn’t sure it was, but if the wax had gotten on the spread the way I thought it might have, it would be practically decisive. “Maybe the girl remembers whether there was any wax on the glass top of the bed table, too.”
Down in the PBX room, Mona was still on the 21MM section of the board. I told her what I wanted.