She went back up to the comer of Lake and Water. A short block away was Second Street, a little way up that was the entrance to that big parking lot with City Hall on the other side of it. No wonder Margot walked over to the meeting and then home again. It wasn’t very far. That’s also why she had been wearing those sensible low-heeled pumps instead of her flashy high heels.

Betsy started up Lake Street toward Crewel World. Margot had come home this way on the last night of her life.

Had the murderer been waiting in the shadows for her? Did he come out and introduce himself and find some reason for her to take him up to her apartment?

When did he strike Sophie? Because the vet said he doubted if Sophie had been hit by a car. There was a deep, narrow bruise over the break in Sophie’s leg, he said, as if someone had hit her with a rock or club. That confirmed that Sophie and Margot had entered the shop together, where the murderer struck both of them. Perhaps the murderer swung first at Sophie, and Margot could not help crying out, because Margot never struck, nor would she allow anyone else to strike, Sophie. But if he had hit Sophie with the weapon, why didn’t Sophie have a hole in the middle of her bruise?

Why wasn’t it Sophie who was dead and Margot walking around as if she had a square wheel?

Betsy wished suddenly she had turned down that invitation to go out that evening. She would have been at home with Margot, and the murderer would not have dared to try anything with both of them there.

Say, there was a new thought. Was it possible the murderer knew Margot was home alone?

Who knew Betsy was going out that night? Jill did, Margot did, Shelly did. Did one of them tell Joe?

Without thinking, Betsy put a hand out and opened the door to Crewel World.

“How’d it go?” came Godwin’s eager voice.

“Oh!” said Betsy, who, amazingly, had forgotten she was the bearer of bad news. “Not good, I’m afraid. I can borrow against the inventory, he said; and we’ll have the insurance money from the burglary claim. And Margot had a life-insurance policy, Mr. Penberthy mentioned it, but I guess it’s not very large. We’re going to have to work very hard and make this shop pay, not only for itself, but for me, too.”

She looked at Godwin’s disappointed face. “Sorry,” she said, and then she noticed the dark-haired lady standing beside the desk. Irene Potter.

“I brought you something to look at,” she said, and unrolled a piece of cloth across the desk.

Betsy came to look. It was a picture of the sun coming up over hills and a river.

“You should get that framed,” said Godwin.