Elizabeth tapped the detective on the shoulder. He turned from the doorway with a question in his eyes.
“Just what,” she inquired softly, “did that woman mean to you?”
“To me? Nothing. Why, nothing at all!”
She let her eyes rest on the money and then on his face. The unspoken suggestion was eloquent.
“Honest, Elizabeth. She was just a batty doll who thought she owned me.”
“You mentioned,” she went on relentlessly, “a party at which you got drunk and passed out.”
“Oh, that. She doped the beer. She made another mistake. She doped it with an aphrodisiac.”
The girl’s eyes grew wide in startled wonder.
“You get the idea, doctor? That stuff mixed with beer put me to sleep. Honest.”
“Hey, look,” Wiedenbeck broke in on them, emerging from the room. “Look what I found. A dollar minted the same year I was born. Do you mind if I keep it, Horne?”