He sighed, leaned back, and half closed his eyes. He looked as fresh as a daisy, and about as shamefaced as a fan dancer. “Go ahead.”
I gave it to him, complete, from memory, for I had made no notes. It took quite a while. He asked no questions and let me go to the end without any interruption. When I was through he said again, sat up, and rang for beer.
“It’s hopeless,” he declared. “You say they sent for you last? They had interviewed all the others?”
“I think so. Certainly most of them. I think all of them.”
“It’s hopeless. I mean for us. With tenacity and perseverance the police may break that circle, but I doubt it. It’s welded too tight. They were all there in the country when Hawthorne was killed. They were all in that house when Miss Karn died. Too many of them. I might get the truth if I worked hard enough for it, but what would I do with it? Could I establish it? How? They don’t want it, not even Dunn himself, though he thinks he does. And I don’t want it myself if I can’t use it. Especially at the price it would cost. Do I?”
“No, sir. But you could use a little deposit at the bank.”
“I’m aware of that. But the death of Miss Karn makes it impossible to proceed even with the matter of the will. If she left a will herself — pfui! It’s hopeless.”
“Then what are Fred and Orrie sitting around for, at eight bucks a day? Local color?”
“No. I’m hanging on until I see Mr. Cramer. And others who’ll be coming before the day’s out. Two or three of them, I fancy, will want to see me.”
“They sure will,” I agreed. “Stauffer will want to bribe you. Daisy will want to sell you another cornflower. And of course Sara will want you to recover her camera. Oh, I forgot to mention that. She told me somebody stole her camera.”