It was nearly ten o'clock when Kessler and Brogan met Margaret at the hotel dining room. "It's about time!" she declared. "I'm starving. Hello there, George. What are you doing to my husband? Or vice versa? We were going to go on a second honeymoon and now he has that fiend-for-work look in his eye!"
"My dear Margaret," Brogan said, holding her hand and smiling gallantly, "I must deeply apologize for keeping Bob. And I'm almost frightened to say that it looks as though it will be for some time longer. We will have to go back after dinner and it may be some days before either of us has much free time."
Margaret looked at them suspiciously, with the brightness in her eye that came from her first martini. "What are you two up to now? Some of this top secret stuff? I might know! I can't get away from it! Never mind, I'll worm it out of Bob when I get him alone. If that ever happens!"
They carefully avoided any further reference to the investigation until they were halfway through dinner in the nearly deserted dining room. Margaret, mellowed by a second martini and all of her steak which she ate, sighed. "Poor Miss Schmitt," she said. "I've been feeling sorry for her all evening when I haven't been feeling sorry for myself."
"Why Miss Schmitt?" Kessler asked, chewing.
"Oh, I shouldn't, I know. Bob Spencer would probably have been a worse husband than you are. But at least I'm glad I went along with you to visit her. I settled something that's been bothering me."
"What was that, dear?" Kessler asked, raising a juicy morsel of steak to his lips.
"Why, that he was accident prone."
Kessler lowered his fork. "Yes, you mentioned that before," he said carefully. "I was telling George about it. But why did you think he might be?"