Margaret flicked a glance at her husband and gave him the floor. "You've been a wonderful hostess," Kessler said, rising, "and I want to thank you for being good enough to talk to us."
"Well, I'm afraid I haven't been much help," she said, rising to flutter over the glasses.
"That's not your fault," Kessler said. "As you know, we haven't come up with an answer on this investigation, but at least they can't say I didn't try."
Miss Schmitt waved to them from the window of her apartment as they got in their car. "She was sweet, you know," Margaret murmured as she waved back gaily. "Sad about them, too."
"Well, investigation's over," Kessler smiled at Margaret as he drove away. "Results, nil. Second honeymoon, anyone? We've got nothing to keep us now. How do we get to the highway from here?"
"Yes, dear," Margaret murmured, still bemused by Miss Schmitt. "But wasn't it a shame they never got married? He was such an unhappy man. She might have brought him out of it."
"I doubt that," Kessler said, adjusting the sun blind against the evening glare of the sun.
"Like she said, he was a hard luck artist. It's a personality type, it doesn't change."
"What?" Kessler asked, maneuvering a corner in heavy traffic.