“But you didn’t use it. Bleatie was in there.”

“Can’t you see?” I said. “That’s the whole thing. Bleatie was intended to be in there. Bleatie isn’t Sandra’s brother. He’s her husband. Bleatie’s Morgan Birks!”

She looked at me with cold, hard eyes, and said, “Don’t be a God damn ass, Donald.”

“Everything points to it.” I went on, “We’ve been dumb not to see it before this.”

“Don’t you suppose Sandra Birks knows her own brother when she sees him?”

“Of course she does—if she has a brother. But she was in on this play. That explains why Bleatie was always sticking up for Morgan. It explains why he made Sandra kick through with a release of any property that was in the safety deposit boxes. It explains every single fact in the whole case. Sandra Birks wanted a divorce. Morgan Birks was willing to give it to her—probably wanted a divorce just as badly as she did. But she had to serve papers on him. He was a fugitive from justice. Someone had to make the service—someone who could go into court and swear that the service had been made. That’s where we came in. We were the fall guys.”

“But she met Bleatie at the train, and had this automobile accident and—”

“Look up that automobile accident,” I said, “and you’ll find that there wasn’t any. It was all a frame-up. They hired this doctor to put splints on the man’s nose. It was a big heavy nose guard which ran pretty well up to his forehead. Then there was tape to pull his eyes out of shape and twist his mouth. You certainly couldn’t see what he looked like with his face all patched up with that nose business.