be something that was troubling him. He weighed Ms words carefully, twisting the stem of the third cocktail glass between long restless fingers. 'You get one of them on your neck,' he said, the blue eyes clouded, 'and you can't get her off.' He watched his hand. 'Not without making a mess...'
Ellen closed her eyes, her hands damp on the slick black tabletop.
'You can't help feeling sorry for people like that,' he went on, 'but you've got to think of yourself first.'
'People like what?' she said, not opening her eyes.
'People who throw themselves on other people...' There was the loud slap of his hand hitting the tabletop. Ellen opened her eyes. He was taking cigarettes from a pack on the table, smiling. 'The trouble with me is too many whiskey sours,' he said. His hand, holding a match to her cigarette, was unsteady. 'Let's talk about you.'
She made up a story about a secretarial school in Des Moines run by an elderly Frenchman who pitched spitballs at the girls when they weren't looking. When it was finished Powell said, 'Look, let's get out of here.'
'You mean go to another place?' Ellen asked.
'If you want to,' he said unenthusiastically., Ellen reached for the coat beside her. 'If you don't mind, I'd just as soon we didn't I was up very early this morning.'
'Okay,' Powell said. 'I'll escort you to your door.' The edgy smile which had begun the evening made its return.
She stood with her back to the door of her room, the brass-tagged key in her hand. 'Thank you very much,' she said. 'It really was a nice evening.'
His arm with both their coats over it went around her back. His lips came towards her and she turned away, catching the kiss on her cheek. 'Don't be coy,' he said flatly. He caught her jaw in his hand and kissed her mouth hard.
'Let's go in... have a last cigarette,' he said.
She shook her head.
'Evvie...' His hand was on her shoulder.
She shook her head again. 'Honestly, I'm dead tired.' It was a refusal, but the modest curling of her voice implied that things might be different some other night He kissed her a second time. She pushed his hand back up to her shoulder. 'Please... someone might...' Still holding her, he drew back a bit and smiled at her. She smiled back, trying to make it the same broad smile she had given him in the drugstore.
It worked. It was like touching a charged wire to an exposed nerve. The shadow flickered across his face.
He drew her close, both arms around her, his chin over her shoulder as if to avoid seeing her smile. 'Do I still remind you of that girl?' she asked. And then, 'I'll bet she was another girl you went out with just once.'
'No,' he said, 'I went out with her for a long time.' He pulled back. 'Who says I'm going out with you just once? You doing anything tomorrow night?'
'No.'
'Same time, same place?** 'If you like.'
He kissed her cheek and held her close again. 'What happened? she asked.
'What do you mean?' His words vibrated against her temple.
'That girl. Why did you stop going with her?' She tried to make it light, casual. 'Maybe I can profit by her mistakes.'
'Oh.' There was a pause. Ellen stared at the cloth of his lapel, seeing the precise weaving of the slate blue threads. 'It was like I said downstairs... we got too involved. Had to break it off.' She heard him take a deep breath. ''She was very immature,' he added.
After a moment Ellen made a withdrawing movement 'I think I'd better...'
He kissed her again, a long one. She closed her eyes sickly.
Easing from his arms, she turned and put the key in the door without looking at him. 'Tomorrow night at eight,' he said. She had to turn around to take her coat, and there was no avoiding his eyes. 'Good night, Evvie.'
She opened the door behind her and stepped back forcing a smile to her lips. 'Good night.' She shut the door.
She was sitting motionlessly on the bed, the coat still in her hands, when the telephone rang five minutes later. It was Gant.
'Keeping late hours, I see.' She sighed. 'Is it a relief to talk to you...'
'Well!' he said, stretching the word. 'Well, well, well! I gather that my innocence has been clearly and conclusively established.'
'Yes. Powell's the one who was going with her. And I'm right about it not being suicide. I know I am. He keeps talking about girls who throw themselves on other people and take things too seriously and get involved and things like that.' The words tumbled quickly, freed of the strain of guarded conversation.
'Good Lord, your efficiency astounds me. Where did you get your information?'
'From him.'
'What?'
'I picked him up in the drugstore where he works.
I'm Evelyn Kittredge, unemployed secretary, of Des Moines, Iowa. I just tight-roped through the evening with him.'
There was a long silence from Gant's end of the line. 'Tell all,' he said finally, wearily. 'When do you plan to beat the written confession out of him?'
She told him of Powell's sudden dejection when passing the Municipal Building, repeating as accurately as she could the remarks he had made under the influence of the doldrums and the whiskey sours.
When Gant spoke again he was serious. 'Listen, Ellen, this doesn't sound like anything to play around with.'
'Why? As long as he thinks I'm Evelyn Kittredge-'
'How do you know he does? What if Dorothy showed him a picture of you?'
'She had only one, and that was a very fuzzy group snapshot with our faces in the shade. If he did see it, it was almost a year ago. He couldn't possibly recognize me. Besides, if he suspected who I am he wouldn't have said the things he did.'
'No, I guess he wouldn't have,' Gant admitted reluctantly. 'What do you plan to do now?'
'This afternoon I went down to the library and read all the newspaper reports of Dorothy's death. There were a few details that were never mentioned, little things like the color of her hat, and the fact that she was wearing gloves. I have another date with him tomorrow night If I can get him talking about her 'suicide' maybe he'll let drop one of those things that he couldn't know unless he was with her.'
'It wouldn't be conclusive evidence,' Gant said. 'He could claim he was in the building at the time and he saw her after she...'
'I'm not looking for conclusive evidence. All I want is something that will prevent the police from thinking that I'm just a crank with an overactive imagination. If I can prove he was anywhere near her at the time, it should be enough to start them digging.'
'Well will please tell me how the hell you expect to get him to talk in such detail without making him suspicious? He's not an idiot, is he?'
'I have to try,' she argued. 'What else is there to do?'
Gant thought for a moment 'I am the owner of an old ball peen hammer,' he said. 'We could beat him over the head, drag him to the scene of the crime, and sweat it out of him.'
'You see,' Ellen said seriously, 'there's no other way to...' Her voice faded. 'Hello?'
'I'm still here,' she said. 'What happened? I thought we were cut off.'
'I was just thinking.'
'Oh. Look, seriously... be careful, will you? And if it's at all possible, call me tomorrow evening, just to let me know where you are and how things are going.'
'Why?'
'Just to be on the safe side.'
'He thinks I'm Evelyn Kittredge.'
'Well call me anyway. It can't hurt. Besides, my hair grays easily.'
