“Easy now. You wouldn’t take advantage of a poor widow lady? Not until we’ve had a drink anyway.”
I followed her into the comfortable room I’d visited before. When was that, ten years ago, fifty?
“Scotch?”
“Thank you.”
I settled down with my drink and she sat primly opposite, presumably so as not to let me get any ideas. Not yet.
“I think we’ll have to be frank with each other, Mark,” she said hesitantly. “I’m—I’m not just another woman.”
“All right. That suits me.” I set down the glass and locked my hands together on my knees. “Tell me about Clyde Hamilton.”
Her face changed, and now she was worried.
“Clyde? What about him?”
“You didn’t tell me you knew him,” I pointed out.
“But I know lots of people I haven’t told you about,” she protested. “I’ve hardly had much opportunity yet.”
“Clyde is different,” I insisted. “You spent a lot of time with him at the Grease-Paint Pot. You must have known who he was, what he was. But you didn’t tell me. Might have saved a lot of time. Tell me about him now.”
She flexed her hand nervously on the arm of the chair.
“You’ll have to know anyway. He’s my brother.”
“Your what?”
It wasn’t a very intelligent remark, but the answer was unexpected.
“Yes. I moved here a long time ago, and of course Clyde knew that. He’s always been a little bit wild, and I was worried about the kind of company he was keeping back home. But he’s a grown man, and it was too late to change him. Then he came here to Monkton City a few months ago, and ,he hadn’t changed. I thought if I spent some of my time with him, had him meet some nice people, it might help. I should have known better,” she ended bitterly. “Well now you know. My brother is a bad hat, Mark. Does it have to matter to us?”
“And she fixed him with a nervous, trusting smile, hoping with all her heart that Clyde’s reputation would not come between her and the man she loved,” I sneered.
She flushed.
“That was a pretty rotten thing to say. You’d better go.”
“Aw, come on angel, there’s only us watching this picture. No critics to rave about your performance.”
“I don’t understand one word of what you’re saying,” she informed me icily. “Are you drunk?”
“No. I wish I were,” I said sadly. “And I wish I could leave you out of this, but I can’t. Remember the little tale you told me about that wicked blackmailing Brookman?”
“What about it?”
I shook my head regretfully.
“Not true angel. Not a word of truth in it. You told a naughty fib.”
“I did no such thing,” she protested. “Why, I paid him——”
“Nothing,” I finished. “Big fat zero is what you paid him. That was a little tale Clyde taught you, after he pushed the poor devil off the Point.”
Her face was white and strained.
“What’re you saying?” she whispered.
“Didn’t you know? It was your bad bad brother killed Brookman. He’d been robbing Jake Martello and marking the books so the missing money was debited to Brook-man. Maybe some others too. We’ll know it all when the accountants are finished with Jake’s books.”
“But that’s ridiculous. Clyde couldn’t have——”
She stopped as she saw the stony look on my face.
“But bad old Clyde says he did. He’s down at headquarters right now, honey. You know what else he did? He killed two other people tonight, one of them a girl. He shot her in the back. I saw him do it.”
“Lies,” she blazed. “What madness is this?”
“Madness is right,” I agreed.
Again she shook her head in dumb refusal to accept.
“He’s always been rather wild, but this—this is——”
She passed a hand across her face.
“I know,” I soothed. “It’s tough news for you. But I’m afraid there’s worse to follow.”
“Worse?” she repeated. “What could possibly be worse?”
“Why we mustn’t leave old Clyde all alone down there, must we? I know little details get overlooked sometimes, but I’m afraid we haven’t quite cleared up Flower’s murder yet.”
“Flowers? Who is Flowers?” she queried.
“Was,” I corrected. “And not Flowers. Flower. A girl whose real name was Serena Fenton. You must recall her, surely? You tipped her out of a window, remember?”
Eve went very still.
“I did what?”
“You can’t have forgotten, surely. It was just a few hours ago. I was there too. You hit me over the head with something, but I was too heavy for the window exit.”
“I think you must be insane. I’m going to call the police.”
She made a move to get up, sat down again when she saw the .38 pointed at her.
“You’re going to kill me,” she said tonelessly.
“No, no. Just want you to stay where you are. I left word for the police to be called ten minutes after I left town. They ought to be here within minutes.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
“But angel, I’m not doing anything. I don’t want you roaming around the house, wearing yourself out. Besides, I have a feeling there might be a rifle around here someplace. If there is, and it’s the one that was fired at Jake Martello last night, you’re a pretty good shot. And I wouldn’t want to have you demonstrating on me.”
She bit her lip, and sat very still.
“Don’t worry too much,” I suggested. “You give the jury that big sister act you gave me. With the right clothes, and the right attorney, you’ll probably get away with seven to ten. There’ll still be plenty of good killings left in you when you come out.”
Her eyes fixed on me with implacable hatred.
“You should pray they keep me in there forever.”
“Threats?” I mocked. “What happened to all the lovey-dovey?”
There was a wail in the distance on the night, growing louder.
“Mark, listen to me,” she said urgently. “I have almost twenty thousand in cash right here in the house. We could
