“Well, almost,” said Jupiter.
The Fairchilds were leaving. Sampson and Hadley joined them. Miss Slade walked out alone. Chalmers was talking with Sylvester, whose eyes hadn’t stopped rolling from the time he came into the room.
Rankin came over to Jupiter and Betty. They shook hands.
The Sergeant said, “Jones, if you ever want a job as a detective, I think I can get you one.”
“No, thanks, Inspector, I’ll keep my amateur standing. If we have another murder, maybe you’ll trust me a little more.”
The Sergeant grinned. “Hell, I’ll put you in charge of the case.”
Suddenly he was thoughtful. He drew Jupiter aside.
“Jones, we’ve found out quite a few things that have been going on around here. You know, the Fairchilds and the Sampsons. Well, I don’t suppose I need to tell you that it would be a good idea not to mention anything about them. After all, we’ve got our murderer and—”
“Right,” said Jupiter. “I never cared a great deal for tabloids myself.”
Rankin went out.
Jupiter said to Betty, “Well, my pretty friend, I suggest you knock off work for the day and that we go in town and have a little champagne by way of celebration.”
“You would,” said Betty.
They went.
THE END
