“I really am tired,” she told me. Her tone was back to what might have been normal. “All this awful business. After dinner would be better. What is the address?”
I got my wallet, took out a card, and handed it to her. “By the way,” I observed, “that reminds me. At that meeting last Friday at Mr. Beebe’s office, Aubry put one of his cards on Beebe’s desk and left it there. Do you happen to remember what became of it?”
Mrs. Savage said promptly, “I remember he took out a card, but I don’t—”
“Hold it,” Dick barked at her, gripping her arm so hard that she winced. “Go upstairs.”
She tried to twist loose, found it wouldn’t work, and leveled her eyes at him to stare him off. That didn’t work either. His eyes were as level as hers, and harder and meaner. Four seconds of it was enough for her. When he turned her around she didn’t resist, and without a word she walked to the stairs and started up. He faced me and demanded, “What’s this about a card?”
“What I said. Aubry put one on Beebe’s desk—”
“Who says he did?”
“Aubry.”
“Yeah? A guy in for murder? Come again.”
“Glad to. Beebe says so too.”