Dick said, 'Don't cry, love.' He looked at Dorothy, 'Somebody upset her. It wasn't I.'
Blanche made an abrupt gestiure. 'The Callahan woman— completely bad. A liar. You can't beheve a thing she'd say. You shouldn't have been taken anywhere near her.' Blanche was furioiis.
'Now, Blanche,' said Dick soothingly, 'no harm.' He kissed Nan's hair. 'I only wash I'd saved you the shock.' Then he said to Dorothy, in that cool hght voice, 'What did Aunt Emily say to Sims in the hospital?'
'I told you,' said Dorothy shortly. 'Aunt Eimily loved Nan. Didn't want her hurt. And Johnny feels the same.'
'Does he, though?' said Dick, with a suggestion of a smile. (Nan raised her head.) 'I think he wouldn't mind getting rid of me, if he could. Don't blame him too much, love. Fact, he admitted as much last night. I told him to go ahead and have a try.'
Nan's eyes began to shine. 'Oh, Dick!' she said.
'I'm going to change,' he said, 'and take you girls to
lunch. Wash your face, sweetheart. I have a thought, Blanche. Ask John Sims to come to dinner.'
'No,' said Blanche flatly.
'What's this?' Bart Bartee had come into the wide hall from the back of the house. 'We're due in the village, Dick. We're late.'
'It's Sims checking whether I killed Christy,'' said Dick easily.
'Why do you want to ask him to dinner?' Bart said.
'Look,' said Dick, 'the poor guy's in love with my girl. So he's all over town. Better we talk to him.'
Blanche said, 'Please, Bart, I don't like this. Stop this Sims. Tell him to go away.'
'I can't do that, Blanche,' Bart said almost absentmind-edly.
'Of course not,' joined Dick. 'But I agree with Blanche that it's nothing to like—all over town. Best we talk to him ourselves. Tell him everything we know and straighten him out.'
Blanche stared at him.
Nan said primly, 'If I could only make Johnny realize that I am going^:o marry you.'
Dorothy felt an impulse to hit her.
Dick laughed. 'He'U catch on.' He started Nan toward the stairs.
'What about our appointment?'' Bart said.
'Another day. You don't mind?' Dick kept walking.
Bart twitched his shoulders. A sardonic expression crossed his smooth face. Blanche's hands were twisting. Blanche's eyes seemed sunk deep into her head.
'Bart, he cannot come to dinnerl I won't call himl'
'I think it's not a bad idea.' Bart's voice was quiet. 'I'll call him.'
Blanche winced as if he had whipped her. 'No, I will—' she murmured. She turned to go.
Bart said, 'You're not upset. Miss Dorothy?'
Dorothy said slowly, 'No, although I am beginning to think that Clinton McCauley may be innocent.'
'Are you?' said Bart with interest.
'He was guilty!' cried Blanche. 'Everyone knowsl And anyway, it was seventeen years ago.'
1 don't see,' said Dorothy, 'what difference the years make.'
'Neither do I,' said Bart.
Blanche put her head down and hurried away.
Johnny Sims got back to his motel about five p.m. His legs were weary. He had been everywhere in the town of Hestia. Hunting for the bus driver. Gone. Trying to find out where the uncle's best friend, one Ruiz, was now. Nobody knew. Looking for Bartee servants. Somebody said the Bar-tees' old yardman now hved in a Httle crossroads settlement about eight miles to the south. This was all he had gleaned. Almost notliing. He had run into more doubt.
Society, he reflected, punishes a man. The climate is against him. But after seventeen years, the climate has changed. Society wonders. Only evidence can stand up. Evidence is that which remains. In this case, there had not been enough, either way.
He kicked off his shoes, and sat down by the phone. Called San Francisco. Copeland. Reported.
'She knows, at least, that rumor was Dick Bartee did it,' Johnny finished forlornly.
'How did she react?' the lawyer asked.
'She was angry.'
'McCauley's still in the hospital,' the lawyer said gloomily.
'No better?'
'Not much. What's your opinion now on Dick Bartee?'
