“Sure, they heard the shooting, but they didn’t see anybody doing it.” He gave me a glass of whisky.
“Find any empty shells?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Neither time. Probably a revolver.”
“And he emptied it both times–counting the shot that hit her telephone–if, like a lot of people, he carried an empty chamber under the hammer.”
Guild lowered the glass he was raising towards his mouth. “You’re not trying to find a Chinese angle on it, are you?” he complained, “just because they shoot like that,”
“No, but any kind of angle would help some. Find out where Nunheim was the afternoon the girl was killed?”
“Uh-huh. Hanging around the girl’s building–part of the time anyhow. He was seen in front and he was seen in back, if you’re going to believe people that didn’t think much of it at the time and haven’t got any reason for lying about it. And the day before the killing he had been up to her apartment, according to an elevator boy. The boy says he came down right away and he don’t know whether he got in or not.”
I said: “So. Maybe Miriam’s right, maybe he did know too much. Find out anything about the four thousand difference between what Macaulay gave her and what Clyde Wynant says he got from her?”
“No.”
“Morelli says she always had plenty of money. He says she once lent him five thousand in cash.”
Guild raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”
“Yes. He also says Wynant knew about her record.”
“Seems to me,” Guild said slowly, “Morelli did a lot of talking to you.’,
“He likes to talk. Find out anything more about what Wynant was working on when he left, or what he was going away to work on?”
“No. You’re kind of interested in that shop of his.”
“Why not? He’s an inventor, the shop’s his place. I’d like to have a look at it some time.”
“Help yourself. Tell me some more about Morelli, and how you go about getting him to open up.”
“He likes to talk. Do you know a fellow called Sparrow? A big fat pale fellow with a pansy voice?”
Guild frowned. “No. Why?”
“He was there–with Miriam–and wanted to take a crack at me, but they wouldn’t let him.”
“And what’d he want to do that for?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because she told him I helped knock Nunheim off–helped you.”
Guild said: “Oh.” He scratched his chin with a thumb-nail, looked at his watch. “It’s getting kind of late. Suppose you drop in and see me some time tomorrow–today”
I said, “Sure,” instead of the things I was thinking, nodded at him and Andy, and went out to the living-room.
Nora was sleeping on the sofa. Mimi put down the book she was reading and asked: “Is the secret session over?”
“Yes.” I moved towards the sofa.
Mimi said: “Let her sleep awhile, Nick. You’re going to stay till after your police friends have gone, aren’t you?”
“All right. I want to see Dorothy again.”
“But she’s asleep.”
“That’s all right. I’ll wake her up.”
“But–”
Guild and Andy came in, said their good nights, Guild looked regretfully at the sleeping Nora, and they left.
Mimi sighed. “I’m tired of policemen,” she said. “You remember that story?”
“Yes.”
Gilbert came in. “Do they really think Chris did it?”
“No,” I said.
“Who do they think?”
“I could’ve told you yesterday. I can’t today.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mimi protested. “They know very well and you know very well that Clyde did it.” When I said nothing she repeated more sharply: “You know very well that Clyde did it.”
“He didn’t,” I said.
An expression of triumph brightened Mimi’s face. “You are working for him, now aren’t you?”
My “No” bounced off her with no effect whatever.
Gilbert asked, not argumentatively, but as if he wanted to know: “Why couldn’t he?”
“He could’ve, but he didn’t. Would he have written those letters throwing suspicion on Mimi. the one person who’s helping him by hiding the chief evidence against him?”
“But maybe he didn’t know that. Maybe he thought the police were simply not telling all they knew. They often do that, don’t they? Or maybe he thought he could discredit her, so they wouldn’t believe her if–“