“No, I don’t think — yes I do, too! That was you?”
She grinned delightedly and wrinkled her nose at him.
“But that girl didn’t have red hair. At least, I don’t think she did.”
“No, not showing, she didn’t. But there were other times.”
“Name one — a recent one. This week, for instance.”
“Ummm. Well, going downtown on the streetcar the morning after the explosion, you read the newspaper over my shoulder. And I read one over your shoulder, later, when you were standing by a lamppost on Main Street.”
His jaw slacked. “The girl with the pencil in her hair?”
“The same,” she laughed.
“But she was shorter...”
“For a detective, Jack, you’re awful damned dumb. High heels, no heels, clothing having vertical stripes, or broad checks and plaids, up, down.”
“I’ll never trust a woman again,” he exclaimed.
“You’ll have to trust me, darling. You’re going to live with me for a long time.”
The little sounds Hilda made while setting the table for lunch drifted into the bedroom. Horne held in his hand the three letters Betty had brought him from town.
“I wish to hell,” he said, “that you weren’t so thorough. I wish the boss could have read this.” He held up the one he had mailed the insurance company the previous evening.
Betty shook her head. “He doesn’t need it.”
“How did you get these two?”
“From your office, silly.”
“But how did you get in without anyone seeing you? Doctor Saari—”
“I waited until they went down the back stairs.”
“They?”
“The woman and the police sergeant. The one named Wiedenbeck. And then I slipped in and picked them off your desk.”
“Why were they going down the back stairs?” he asked in wonder.
“They intended to question the janitor about your telephone. It seems that it was tapped.”
His face changed. “Oh — they did? And what did they find out? Now don’t disappoint me, snoop. Surely you know that.”
“I do.” Her lips thinned into a line and she shifted in her chair. “He was able to tell them very little. He had been hit on the head. Knocked out, I imagine.”
“That janitor must have been getting close to you,” he snapped at her. “Where did you hide it?”
“Hide what?”
“Your phone. The one you used to listen in on my wire.”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead she settled deeper into the chair and folded her hands in her lap.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Behind the janitor’s supply room,” she said sullenly. “There was a small door opening into the tunnel under the street. All the cables are in there. I had a key...”
“You seem to have a lot of keys to a lot of doors, sweetheart. One of them will get you in trouble, someday. But why did you have to sock the janitor?”
“I had to get out of there in a hell of a hurry. That damned woman doctor told the sergeant your line was tapped. I heard her say so while he was listening on the line. They would have come downstairs and caught me.
“Well, when I crawled out of the tunnel the janitor heard me. He was in his office and mumbled something about rats. You should have seen his eyes pop when he saw me there.”
Horne took hope. The sergeant was on his trail, either before or after Doctor Saari told him about the tapped wire. Trouble was, not even a bloodhound could follow his trail through the rainstorm of the previous evening. Whatever in the world happened to that clumsy shadow that had followed him home? Had the crazy redhead...?
The crazy redhead asked bitingly, “Anything else, Paul Pry?”
“Is he a detective too? Funny name. Never heard of him. When did you tap my wire? I don’t have to ask why.”
“About a week ago. Never had occasion to use it until a few days ago.” She paused once more but he saw there was a further question on her lips. It struggled with the desire to be sullen, to pout. Curiosity won over.
“Jack...” softly. “Jack, what did that woman mean by saying fifty cents was the limit? And you said you’d walk out if it was a penny more?”
He exploded into laughter, reading the poorly concealed jealousy in her words. She was vaguely hurt.
“I’m broke, redhead.”
“Betty,” she corrected.
“Broke, Betty. I told the doctor I’d take her to lunch but made her promise not to spend more than fifty cents. A dollar was all I had.”
“O-h.” She whispered the sound in obvious relief.
He sobered instantly. “Now, Betty! Not the doctor.”
She flashed him a winning smile. “Let’s change the subject, shall we? Aren’t you going to read your mail?”
“Why bother?” He shrugged ironically. “I can’t answer it.” He stuffed the letters in his trouser pocket. “I want a shirt, size fifteen.”
“I’ll get one for you the next time I go to town. The sleeve length is 33 inches.”
“What the hell did you do? Look over my shoulder every time I bought something?”
“Yes, practically. I did pretty well, don’t you think?”
“You forgot the shirt.”
“No, I didn’t.” She giggled. The auburn hair danced. “I deliberately omitted it. I had hoped you wouldn’t mind. The less you wear the better I like it.”
“I... I’m trying to think of an answer for that one. Something about morals.”
“I have none, Jack. Wait until you see what I wear.”
Acutely uncomfortable, he changed the subject.
“Tell me something I already suspect; tell me, just so I can be sure. Did you ever mail an anonymous letter to me? To my office?”
“No.” She searched his face, puzzled. “And that is the truth. Why should I?”
“I didn’t think you did. But someone did. Remember last night when I jolted you by telling you something you didn’t know? Something that, with all your clever prying, you never discovered? Well, I can jolt you again.”
“I’m waiting...”
“All set? Someone mailed me a letter, warning me the telephone was tapped.”
She sucked in her breath, staring at him. He laughed; it gave him a lift having these little victories over her. Abruptly she got out of her chair to pace the floor of the bedroom. He watched her swinging back and forth, his head following the movements of her lithe body. It dawned on him that he had handed her a greater jolt than he suspected. The worry written on her face was genuine; it put furrows in her forehead, pulled down the corners of her eyes.
Stopping before him in mid-stride, she shot her hand out and grasped his shoulder, the skin clenched in her wiry fingers. He tried to squirm out from under them.
“Do you have this letter with you?”
“Nope; left it in the office.”
He was watching her eyes; with his words he saw the pupils suddenly contract into dangerous points. Her hand slipped from his shoulder. Palm open, it hung there in the air before his face, poised for a stinging slap. He tightened his facial muscles and waited for it. His fist was knotted; unashamed, he mentally searched for the soft spot on her stomach that would double her up like a folded sausage.
She must have guessed that. Her hand dropped and she backed away from him.
“Damn you, you stupid fool!” she gritted. “The cops have that letter now!”
He said nothing, watching her warily.
“If you weren’t such a damned sissy you’d lie once in a while — you could be lying about this. But you aren’t. What did that letter say? How was it worded? Where was it mailed? Tell me!” She stepped quickly to the door of the bedroom and screamed a single name, “Bumble!”