“We have only one girl on duty after 6:45,” the manager told him, and consulted a record. “That was Tessie Rich’s night. Any complaint, Doctor?”
“Merely a matter of information,” the doctor smiled. Back in the sunlight Joe saw that the smile was gone and that the puckers around the sightless eyes had become intent. Dr. Stone said absently: “You must be hungry, Joe,” and they went toward a restaurant. But before they reached it there was a rush of feet and a woman’s breathless voice.
“Doctor!” It was Tessie Rich. “Why did you want to know if I was on duty last Monday night?”
“I didn’t.”
“Oh!” The girl was nonplused. “But—but you asked——”
“I asked who was on duty,” the doctor said gently. “Did you have any reason to think I was asking about you?”
Subtle, hidden undertones filled the question, and the hot needle was again in Joe’s spine. The girl raised a handkerchief to her lips.
“Why—why, of course not, Doctor? Why should I?” There was something of hysterical panic in her voice.
“Why?” the blind man asked, blandly.
In the restaurant Joe Morrow chewed on food that all at once stuck in his throat. Why had his uncle gone to the telephone office? What hidden spring had that visit touched and what had frightened Tessie Rich? Were Mr. Pelle and the girl both involved? Had the canner actually signed two checks? What about Mr. Hesset? Who had gone to the bank with the first check and walked out with five thousand dollars in cash?