After that the quartette settled down to business. Jim lit his pipe and Hopper took a small sip of his highball.

“Tell us about tonight, Mr. Wainwright,” he said pleasantly. “We’re particularly interested in the time between five and seven-thirty o’clock. Did you spend all that time in your office?”

“Not all of it. No. But I finally left there at half past six.”

“And after that?”

“I went to the public library.”

Even Hopper looked surprised. “The library?” he inquired. “Do you care to explain that?”

“No,” said Tony flatly. “Or the telephone either. I suppose you can check the calls, if you want.”

“Were you seen at the library?”

“It was pretty crowded. I don’t know.”

Hopper sat looking at him. “I suppose you realize, if that’s the case, that you have no real alibi from six-thirty to the time you got to your club. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more explicit.”

“I’ve told you all I’m going to,” said Tony stubbornly. “I didn’t shoot at my wife, if that’s what you mean. I didn’t even have my gun with me.”

They were off after the gun then. When had he seen it last? Where was his license to carry it? He produced the card, and Hopper made a record of the serial number.

“You kept it loaded?”

“I did.”

“How long since you’ve seen it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve kept it in my room since we had the two attempts to get into the house. That’s some time ago. I haven’t noticed it lately, but that doesn’t mean anything. I wasn’t looking for it.”

“Who would take it?” said Hopper. “It was kept in your room. How many people had access to it?”

He went on. Mrs. Wainwright—Mrs. Anthony Wainwright—had been nervous recently, he understood. She had insisted on locking her doors. Wasn’t that unusual, in her husband’s home? “She is here, surrounded by—well, let’s say a loving family.” He smiled sardonically. “But the lady is terrified. Have you any explanation of that, Mr. Wainwright?”

“I have never pretended to explain my wife,” said Tony gruffly.

They did not arrest him, of course. The meeting—if it could be called that—broke up at half past two, and Dwight Elliott spent the rest of the night there. But in the hall before he left Hopper turned to Tony.

“Just what is your theory about this man Evans?” he asked, almost gently. “Think he knew something?”

“About what?” said Tony aggressively.

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

“See here, if you think I dragged Evans out of the hospital and did away with him—”

“Nobody dragged him,” said Hopper, still gently. “I imagine he went willingly, with somebody he knew. And trusted,” he added, watching the smoke from his cigar.

“And then what? I suppose I hit him on the head and carted him off! I did a good job, didn’t I, since nobody’s been able to find him.”

“That doesn’t necessarily follow,” said Hopper, and followed Jim out to his car.