And Hopper chose that very night to search his house and offices again. I suppose he had a warrant, or maybe at some time Bill had told him to go ahead. Whichever way it was, he was there. Mrs. Watkins was indignant.

“You’ve been here once and I’ve just got the place straight after the mess you made of it. What in time do you want now?”

“Only a little look-see,” said Hopper. “You just stand aside, lady, and keep on standing aside.”

She went back to her kitchen, banging the door; and the first thing Hopper found was Evans’s gun. It had not even been hidden. It had been slid into the drawer of the desk in Bill’s consulting room, and it was covered with his fingerprints.

They found him at Lydia’s. Rather, Jim found him. He watched the prints being examined and compared with Bill’s. Then he shot like a bat out of hell, as he said, to the Morgan place. He found them together on the bench near the river. They were sitting there quietly; two people who had loved each other for years, and now were contented merely to be together. They were not even holding hands. Just at peace with each other and with the world.

“I hated like the devil to break it up,” Jim said. “But what was I to do? I’d left Hopper trying to locate him, and I wanted to get there first. I suppose Bill knew what had happened the minute he saw me, for he got up and kissed her. ‘I’ll be back or call you later,’ he said. Then he came along.”

Jim didn’t take him to the station house at once. They drove around for half an hour or so, Jim doing most of the talking.

“Look here, Bill, you know I’ll do all I can. When did you get that gun?”

“You won’t believe me, but I don’t know.”

“You must have seen it, Bill. You couldn’t miss it. Maybe you picked it up the night Evans was hurt.”

“Meaning I hurt him? No.”

“I didn’t mean that. Don’t be a jackass. After all, he had it on him that night. You might have taken it from him after they took him to the hospital.”

“Thanks, Jim. Who would believe that? Where have I had it since? The house was searched before. You know and Hopper and his crowd know it wasn’t there then.”

Jim was resentful as well as indignant. “Why in hell did you leave it there to be found? It was a fool thing to do.”

“What was I—” He checked himself. “Damn it all, Jim, I keep forgetting you’re a policeman yourself. Let it go at that. They’d searched the house once. I didn’t think they’d be back. Anyhow, what has the gun got to do with it? Nobody’s been shot.”

“You’ll have to answer that yourself,” said Jim laconically.

They took him in to the city that night. They treated him well enough, I believe. He sat in the district attorney’s office, smoking and answering the barrage of questions they threw at him. Stewart, the district attorney, did most of the talking; and Jim Conway, telling me about the interrogation later, said he hammered at Bill like a pile driver.