“It sure does,” Shattuck said grimly. “That’s one reason I’m here. Got it from the drawer and then what?”
“I don’t know. At that point the minutiae enter — entrances and exits, presences and absences. Opened the door, possibly, either door, pulled the pin, and tossed it in.” Wolfe regarded him a moment inquiringly. “I take it, Mr. Shattuck, that this conversation is in confidence?”
“Of course it is. Entirely.”
“Then I may say, tentatively, that a seventh person seems to be involved. Miss Bruce. Colonel Ryder’s secretary.”
“You mean that WAC in his anteroom?”
“Yes. I’m not prepared to give details, but it appears that Colonel Ryder had acquired certain information and had either drawn up a report or was getting ready to, and the result would have been disastrous for her.”
Shattuck was frowning. “I don’t like that.”
“Indeed. You don’t like it?”
“I mean I don’t—” Shattuck stopped. The frown deepened. “I mean this,” he said, in a harsh determined tone. “Since this is in confidence. I suspected, rightly or wrongly, that details regarding Captain Cross’s death were being deliberately concealed and no real investigation was being made. I was satisfied on that score when I learned that you were handling it. You may ask then why am I not satisfied if you are in charge of the inquiry into Ryder’s death? I am. But you may yourself be — misled. With all your talents, you may be off on a false scent. That’s why I say I don’t like that girl being dragged into it. I don’t know her, know nothing about her, but it looks like a trick.”
“Possibly,” Wolfe conceded. “Have you any evidence that it is?”