“Sugar,” Sid said, “hasn’t it been a pleasant evening?”
“Yes, it has. It has been an evening to remember.”
“Including part of the afternoon.”
“True. Afternoon and evening alike.”
“It makes me happy when I am able to show you a good time.”
“You show me the best time of anybody. Nobody could possibly make a time half so good as you.”
“Well, I should hope not. Not in the same way, anyhow. Do you think I’m rather clever at it?”
“Clever is not the word. I’d say that you have a rare and natural talent.”
“Really? Sugar, it’s very nice of you to say so. I was wondering, though, if I had been entirely successful.”
“Why should you wonder?”
“For the past half hour you’ve been silent and sad-looking. Are you becoming depressed about something?”
“I’m a little depressed, but not excessively under the circumstances.”
“I understand, sugar. You are certainly entitled to a little depression if anyone is. It may become worse, however, if you just continue keeping everything to yourself. The psychological consequences of something like that can sometimes be quite bad. What happens is, you break out with all sorts of nasty traits that nobody can understand but that are really the results of whatever it is you’re keeping to yourself.”
“I surely wouldn’t want that to happen to me.”
“Neither would I. A certain number of nasty traits are natural and expected in anyone, but it would be difficult, to say the least, to keep on being in love with someone who kept breaking out with more than his share.”
“I promise that I’ll do my best to avoid anything of the sort.”
“Well, there’s very little you can do about it, once you have repressed something long enough to cause the damage. It’s much better to talk about things truthfully before it is too late. Besides, I’m dying of curiosity to know if anything special has developed. Has there?”
“Something has developed, all right, but I don’t know how special it is. Cotton McBride came to see me in the office this afternoon.”
“Cotton McBride? Isn’t he that faded-looking little man who is some kind of policeman?”
“Yes. He’s a detective, and that’s a kind of policeman.”
“Why on earth did he come to see you in the office?”
“He thought maybe I could tell him something that would help him find whoever killed Beth.”
“That seems rather ridiculous to me. Why should he just assume that you could tell him anything of the sort?”
“Oh, he’s simply working in the dark, I think. I used to know her pretty well, and he had a notion I might remember something about something or someone in the past that might be significant. As a matter of fact, it happened that I was able to tell him something that may help, although it wasn’t from any farther in the past than yesterday.”
“What were you able to tell him?”
“Beth was broke. She came to town to see Wilson Thatcher. She wanted him to give her some money to live on. She didn’t see anything unreasonable in this, even though Wilson’s married again, but, then, Beth was always assured that anyone would be happy to give her anything she wanted whenever she wanted it.”
“How do you know she was broke? Did she tell you so?”
“Yes. When we were having gimlets in the Kiowa Room.”
“Well, we mustn’t dwell on that. It’s too dangerous. I’d like to know, however, if Wilson gave her the money. In my opinion, he wouldn’t have been such a fool.”
“In my opinion, you’re right. Anyhow, Wilson said he didn’t. He said he refused to see her when she asked him to. That’s according to Cotton McBride. Cotton wasn’t so sure about it, though.”
“Not so sure? Why not?”
“Because, as it turned out, Beth had five grand in her room at the hotel. Cotton found it when he searched the room this morning.”
“Five thousand dollars? That’s quite a lot of money for someone to have suddenly just after being broke.”
“Not so much for someone who liked to live well in places where living well was expensive. I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m sure it wasn’t nearly as much as the amount Beth had in mind.”
“Nevertheless, it’s quite a bit of money to most people, including Wilson Thatcher. He may have more money than is decent, which he does, but I’ve never known him to display exceptional generosity when it comes to giving any of it away, and I’m willing to bet two to one that he didn’t voluntarily give any to an ex-wife for nothing more than the asking.”
“I’m inclined to agree. So is Cotton.”
“Do you think he gave it to her because she forced him in one way or another?”
“This is one line of reasoning that seems indicated.”
“It’s absolutely fascinating, isn’t it? What do you suppose Wilson could have done to make him susceptible?”
“I can’t imagine. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he cheats on his income tax, but I can’t see him doing anything really juicy.”
“You never can tell, however. Some people are deceptive in such matters. I remember a commissioner in my home town who was discovered in his underdrawers with an elderly sister of the mayor.”
“Was the elderly sister of the mayor in her underdrawers too?”
“No. To be precise, she was out of them.”
“I suppose the commissioner was ruined politically?”
“Not at all. Surprisingly enough, he ran against the mayor in the next election and defeated him.”
“That’s a refreshing commentary on the tolerance of the electorate, if you ask me. I shouldn’t wonder if the elderly sister voted for the commissioner.”
“Well, she owed him
