was simply in preparation?”
“Maybe, maybe it was an earlier fumbling towards that idea. Now are you satisfied with what we've got on him?”
“Yes, in a way. There seems to be enough of it, but it's not very neat.”
“It's neat enough to send him to the chair,” I said, “and that's all that counts. It takes care of all the angles and I can't think of any other theory that would. Naturally it wouldn't hurt to find the pistol, and the typewriter he used for the Wynant letters, and they must be somewhere around where he can get at them when he needs them.” (We found them in the Brooklyn apartment he had rented as George Foley.)
“Have it your own way,” she said, “but I always thought detectives waited until they had every little detail fixed in—”
“And then wonder why the suspect's had time to get to the farthest country that has no extradition treaty.”
She laughed. “All right, all right. Still want to leave for San Francisco tomorrow?”
“Not unless you're in a hurry. Let's stick around awhile. This excitement has put us behind in our drinking.”
“It's all right by me. What do you think will happen to Mimi and Dorothy and Gilbert now?”
“Nothing new. They'll go on being Mimi and Dorothy and Gilbert just as you and I will go on being us and the Quinns will go on being the Quinns. Murder doesn't round out anybody's life except the murdered's and sometimes the murderer's.”
“That may be,” Nora said, “but it's all pretty unsatisfactory.”
