Blanche's eyes said to him hostilely, No, yoti wont.
'Realize?' said Bart, after they had gone. 'What was thatr
Johnny answered honestly, 'I don't know.'
'Tricks?'
The room was silent. Nan's eyes were round. 'Years ago,' said Dick to her comfortingly.
'But, really?' Nan said. 'Killed in this house?'
'Poor Christy McCauley,' Dick said. 'I barely remember her.'
Bart rose. 'I don't like puzzles and tricks. I don't think you can expect any more, Sims.'
Johnny rose also. 'No, not here, sir.'
'You are going to poke around this town?' Bart's voice was light, yet hostile.
'Yes, sir.'
Dick had risen too. Nan said nervously, 'Johnny, do you have to do this? If—if Bart doesn't want you to . . . and Blanche doesn't . . . ?'
Johnny said, 'It's my job.''
'But, I told them you were a friend.'
'I'm that, too,' Johnny said with a grin. 'I understand,' he said to Bart, 'better than you think I do. I've done such jobs before.'
Bart gave him a crisp nod of dismissal.
'Good-night, Nan.'
Nan's lips were pouting disapproval and did not say good-night.
Dick said, in a friendly way, 'I'll see you to the door.'
So they went together out into the red-floored hall and Dick opened a leaf of the front door. He stepped outside,^ himself, and JoJinny followed.
'Are you really going to stir up this old dust?' Dick asked him.
The hght was going and, with the trees so close, the porch was dim,
'A job,' said Johnny. 'I m supposed to talk- to people, get the local color, atmosphere, all that.'
'I suppose you've heard,' Dick said, 'that there once was a flurry of suspicion that I had killed Christy McCauley? Or haven't you heard that?'
'I've heard that,' Johnny said quietly.
'From McCauley himself?'
'No. Grimes told me.' Johnny hed. His heart raced. He had almost made the mistake of admitting he'd seen Mcr-Cauley. This man would then know—or would he?—that Johnny must have foimd out from McCauley who Nan was.
'Going to see McCauley, I suppose?' Dick asked. 'Strange to think that he is still alive.'
'After I'm through here,' Johnny said. (His thoughts raced. Was the man probing?) 'I understand he's sick, right now. In the prison hospital,' Johnny said carelessly.
The man beside him was looking oflF into the trees. 'Are you thinking,' said Dick in a moment, 'that Nan ought to know about those suspicions of me?'
'What do you think?' said Johnny stiflfly.
There was a little silence. 'They wouldn't make an awfully pleasant wedding present,' Dick said softly.
'No.' Johnny's head jerked up. 'I agree with you on that.''
'It was all checked into at the time, you know.'
^I presumed so,' Johnny shrugged.
'But youTl check again?'
'I've already checked, a little. I saw George Rush.'
'ReaUy? Old George? How is he?'
'He's fine. He—was out that night.'
'I know.' Bartee looked away. 'Of course, I understand ^ you,' he said.
'Understand?' Johnny's reason sank under the flooding of emotion.
'I got your girl, eh?' said Dick. 'Well, have a go at it. I don't suppose I can stop you.' The man was smiling.
Johnny conquered anger because one shouldn't be angry at what was true. He said, 'Did ycni think McCauley was a no-good bum?'
'That was the consensus around here,'' said Dick. 'I was just a kid.' Then he added. 'You put me in a spot. I don't know what to do.'
