“The public library, Dwight? I don’t believe it.”

“That’s what he did. He tells me he wanted some files of old newspapers. The clerk at the desk was busy. I’ve seen him. He says someone asked about the files that night, but there was a crowd around him. He can’t identify Tony. I’m sorry, my dear. I’d do anything to save you this, but you insisted.”

It was some time before she spoke. “I see,” she said in a low voice. “And the office. Why did he go back there?”

“The police have discovered that, I’m afraid. He went back to use the long-distance telephone, and they’ve traced the call. Tony refuses to explain, but they know about it. He talked to a firm of private detectives in New York.”

She sat bolt upright at that. “Private detectives, Dwight! Dear God, what are we to do?”

They sent me out of the room then. Mr. Elliott had not wanted me at all, and he was glad to get rid of me. It was a full hour before he came out, to take his car and start back to town. And Amy, going into Maud’s room, found her crying wildly.

Tony never knew of that visit. He was putting up a good front during that week or so. And Maud, after that outburst of hers, was doing the same, although I thought she watched him.

“You’re not worrying about anything, Tony?”

“Certainly I’m worried.”

“Can’t you tell me about it?”

He would grin at me. “It’s that strawberry mark. I hate to seem indelicate, but I’m sure Pat’s holding out on me.”

He brought her foolish little gifts, a small poker dice machine in the shape of a cash register, toys that wound up.

Maud would laugh, and for a time the shadow would fall away. Alone with me, however, Tony looked tired and depressed. His gun had not been found, although the grounds as well as the countryside had been combed. They had even drained the fountain near the playhouse, and a man with a ladder had examined its upper basin. There was no sign yet of Evans. The boats had ceased dragging the river, but the hunt was still on. And Bessie was up and about; she was keeping a nurse by her side, although I think her suspicions of Tony had weakened.

Some time during her convalescence he had had a long talk with her. Amy swears that she had her little pearl-handled revolver under a cushion while it was going on. However that may be, I believe he told her that her whole attitude was absurd as well as dangerous.

“Why should I shoot you?” he said. “Or shoot at you? It’s nonsense. And I’m not a complete idiot. If I wanted to do that to anybody you can be damned sure I’d have an alibi.”

She was less defiant after that. Not friendly. She was never that to any of us. She still locked her doors. But I think now she was floundering like the rest of us. All she had been able to tell the police was that she had been on her way home, traveling fast, that she had heard three or four shots, and that her car had suddenly gone out of control.