Corman had then ordered the captain’s handcuffs taken off and had grown quite friendly.

The captain sat on a stool, with Corman next to him, between him and the door, and listened to the pop of another flashlight bulb. The measurements, photographing, and finger-printing were almost finished. The ambulance and intern would arrive any minute to cart Nick away.

“Mrs. Gherigis killed her husband,” said Duncan Maclain. “Make a ten-minute tour of the place with me and I’ll show you how.”

“That’s a hot one,” said Burzak from farther down. “The lieutenant just got through talking to her in back. She says you were the only one in the diner. She was looking through that glass in the swinging door and saw you shoot the gun.”

“Which narrows it down to her word against mine,” said Maclain. “But she made one mistake—a big one—in picking me for a witness while she tried to look like a man. She thought I was a bum who had wandered in here and that my story would be disbelieved. What she over-looked was that I couldn’t have shot him and couldn’t even see her, because I’m totally blind.”

Corman stood up. “I’ll make a tour with you. If you can make that story stick, Maclain, it’s the very first thing I’ve heard that sounds like sense.”

There were two things in the pantry that interested Duncan Maclain—a big deep-freeze that clanged when the lid dropped down, and a closet. The closet door stood ajar and had a Yale lock on it. What caught Maclain up was the fact that the door was lined with heavy asbestos.

“There’s nothing in there but supplies and beer,” said Corman. “We’ve already looked around. Nick had it insulated against moisture.”

Duncan Maclain was already inside the closet, his fingers traveling along the wall and back of the stacked-up cases of beer. The wires he was searching for led up in back of the shelves. He came out and checked the Yale lock again, making sure it was on the thumb latch and that even if the door were shut it would open without the key.

“When I search for things,” said Duncan Maclain, “I first have to find where they aren’t. That’s what proves to me that my thinking is right.” He hooked his fingers on Corman’s arm. “The washroom seems to be the logical place. Let’s look there.”

Two coats and a hat were hanging in the washroom, with four of Nick’s soiled aprons and two suits of his overalls. Corman stood in silence as the captain’s fingers brushed them all. For twelve inches up from the bottom of the legs, one of the suits of white overalls was damp and muddy.