“I suppose I’ll be thrown out for this,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’ve liked it here. I’d hoped I could stay on, but—”

She cried a little then, but she told her story bravely enough. She had been out the night Evans vanished. Not very late, but after hours. There was a way to get in, if you knew it. The X-ray department, being closed all day, was usually open for airing at night, and it was possible to get in by a window.

She had noticed a car parked on the highway when she came in. It surprised her, because there was plenty of room at the hospital itself. She did not recognize the car, but as she started around the side of the building she saw a man standing under Evans’s window. No, she did not see Evans himself. She had turned back and gone to the X-ray wing by the other side of the building. But she had seen Mr. Stoddard often, and she thought now he had been the man.

That came in on Sunday night. The district attorney was still in his office, and Hopper was with him. Stewart rubbed his hands. “That about finishes it,” he said. “No mistake this time, Hopper. We’ll get an indictment next week.”

But Hopper was skeptical. “Almost too good,” he said. “With a lot left over too.”

Stewart was annoyed. “What’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “Fellow’s guilty as hell. What’s left over?”

“Quite a lot,” drawled Hopper. “Who killed Maud Wainwright, and why? Who shot at Bessie Wainwright’s car? Who tore up the Beverly Cemetery? If Stoddard kidnapped Evans, where is he? And why?”

“Probably dead and buried.”

But Hopper smiled. “Ever try to bury a body, Mr. District Attorney? It isn’t so easy. First you’ve got to get your body. Then you need tools. After that you need time, if you’re to make a good job of it. And if Evans is buried somebody made a damned good job of it. Not so much time either. The sun rose before six o’clock that morning,”

“We’re not trying Stoddard for Evans’s murder,” Stewart said sourly. “If you don’t like this case—”

“Oh, I like it.” Hopper got up and stretched. “I like it fine. Why did Tony Wainwright, the day somebody shot at his wife, call a firm of private dicks in New York? Why did he go to the public library the same evening? When did he learn his wife was blackmailing the Stoddard woman? Who took his gun out of his room? Why was Mrs. Wainwright going to sell her jewelry? Why was—”

“Get out of here,” Stewart shouted. “I’ll end up by thinking you did the thing yourself.”

“Thanks,” said Hopper, picking up his hat. “Whoever did it had brains, Stewart. Brains and to spare.”

According to Jim later, Hopper still believed that Julian’s arrest was premature. They knew Bessie had been collecting blackmail from Margery. In despair Margery herself had admitted it. In fact, she admitted even more. She practically cleared Bessie of complicity in Don’s murder.