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r it； as if it was a balcony。
〃He's dead；〃 she said。 〃He fell out of aout of aa window。〃
I stopped her with my big right hand。 〃Oh； that guy。 I heard about him。 Forget it； can't you？〃
〃No；〃 she said； shaking her head seriously behind the hand。 〃I can't。 I can't seem to forget it at all。 Mrs。 Murdock is always telling me to forget it。 She talks to me for the longest times telling me to forget it。 But I just can't。〃
〃It would be a darn sight better；〃 I snarled； 〃if she would keep her fat mouth shut about it for the longest times。 She just keeps it alive。〃
She looked surprised and rather hurt at that。 〃Oh； that isn't all；〃 she said。 〃I was his secretary。 She was his wife。 He was her first husband。 Naturally she doesn't forget it either。 How could she？〃
I scratched my ear。 That seemed sort of non…mittal。 There was nothing much in her expression now except that I didn't really think she realized that I was there。 I was a voice ing out of somewhere； but rather impersonal。 Almost a voice in her own head。
Then I had one of my funny and often unreliable hunches。 〃Look；〃 I said； 〃is there someone you meet that has that effect on you？ Some one person more than another？〃
She looked all around the room。 I looked with her。 Nobody was under a chair or peeking at us through a door or a window。
〃Why do I have to tell you？〃 she breathed。
〃You don't。 It's just how you feel about it。〃
〃Will you promise not to tell anybodyanybody in the whole world； not even Mrs。 Murdock？〃
〃Her last of all；〃 I said。 〃I promise。〃
She opened her mouth and put a funny little confiding smile on her face； and then it went wrong。 Her throat froze up。 She made a croaking noise。 Her teeth actually rattled。
I wanted to give her a good hard squeeze but I was afraid to touch her。 We stood。 Nothing happened。 We stood。 I was about as much use as a hummingbird's spare egg would have been。
Then she turned and ran。 I heard her steps going along the halls。 I heard a door close。
I went after her along the hall and reached the door。 She was sobbing behind it。 I stood there and listened to the sobbing。
There was nothing I could do about it。 I wondered if there was anything anybody could do about it。
I went back to the glass porch and knocked on the door and opened it and put my head in。 Mrs。 Murdock sat just as I had left her。 She didn't seem to have moved at all。
〃Who's scaring the life out of that little girl？〃 I asked her。
〃Get out of my house；〃 she said between her fat lips。 I didn't move。 Then she laughed at me hoarsely。 〃Do you regard yourself as a clever man； Mr。 Marlowe？〃
〃Well； I'm not dripping with it；〃 I said。
〃Suppose you find out for yourself。〃
〃At your expense？〃
She shrugged her heavy shoulders。 〃Possibly。 It depends。 Who knows？〃
〃You haven't bought a thing；〃 I said。 〃I'm still going to have to talk to the police。〃
〃I haven't bought anything；〃 she said； 〃and I haven't paid for anything。 Except the return of the coin。 I'm satisfied to accept that for the money I have already given you。 Now go away。 You bore me。 Unspeakably。〃
I shut the door and went back。 No sobbing behind the door。 Very still。 I went on。
I let myself out of the house。 I stood there； listening to the sunshine burn the grass。 A car started up in back and a gray Mercury came drifting along the drive at the side of the house。 Mr。 Leslie Murdock was driving it。 When he saw me he stopped。
He got out of the car and walked quickly over to me。 He was nicely dressed； cream colored gabardine now； all fresh clothes； slacks； black and white shoes； with polished black toes； a sport coat of very small black and white check； black and white handkerchief； cream shirt； no tie。 He had a pair of green sun glasses on his nose。
He stood close to me and said in a low timid sort of voice： 〃I guess you think I'm an awful heel。〃
〃On account of that story you told about the doubloon？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃That didn't affect my way of thinking about you in the least；〃 I said。
〃Well〃
〃Just what do you want me to say？〃
He moved his smoothly tailored shoulders in a deprecatory shrug。 His silly little reddish brown mustache glittered in the sun。
〃I suppose I like to be liked；〃 he said。
〃I'm sorry； Murdock。 I like your being that devoted to your wife。 If that's what it is。〃
〃Oh。 Didn't you think I was telling the truth？ I mean； did you think I was saying all that just to protect her？〃
〃There was that possibility。〃
〃I see。〃 He put a cigarette into the long black holder； which he took from behind his display handkerchief。 〃WellI guess I can take it that you don't like me。〃 The dim movement of his eyes was visible behind the green lenses； fish moving in a deep pool。
〃It's a silly subject；〃 I said。 〃And damned unimportant。 To both of us。〃
He put a match to the cigarette and inhaled。 〃I see；〃 he said quietly。 〃Pardon me for being crude enough to bring it up。〃
He turned on his heel and walked back to his car and got in。 I watched him drive away before I moved。 Then I went over and patted the little painted Negro boy on the head a couple of times before I left。
〃Son；〃 I said to him； 〃you're the only person around this house that's not nuts。〃
23
The police loudspeaker box on the wall grunted and a voice said： 〃KGPL。 Testing。〃 A click and it went dead。
Detective…Lieutenant Jesse Breeze stretched his arms high in the air and yawned and said： 〃Couple of hours late； ain't you？〃
I said： 〃Yes。 But I left a message for you that I would be。 I had to go to the dentist。〃
〃Sit down。〃
He had a small littered desk across one corner of the room。 He sat in the angle behind it； with a tall bare window to his left and a wall with a large calendar about eye height to his right。 The days that had gone down to dust were crossed off carefully in soft black pencil； so that Breeze glancing at the calendar always knew exactly what day it was。
Spangler was sitting sideways at a smaller and much neater desk。 It had a green blotter and an onyx pen set and a small brass calendar and an abalone shell full of ashes and matches and cigarette stubs。 Spangler was flipping a handful of bank pens at the felt back of a seat cushion on end against the wall； like a Mexican knife thrower flipping knives at a target。 He wasn't getting anywhere with it。 The pens refused to stick。
The room had that remote； heartless； not quite dirty； not quite clean； not quite human smell that such rooms always have。 Give a police department a brand new building and in three months all its rooms will smell like that。 There must be something symbolic in it。
A New York police reporter wrote once that when you pass in beyond the green lights of a precinct station you pass clear out of this world； into a place beyond the law。
I sat down。 Breeze got a cellophane…wrapped cigar out of his pocket and the routine with it started。 I watched it detail by detail； unvarying； precise。 He drew in smoke； shook his match out； laid it gently in the black glass ashtray； and said： 〃Hi； Spangler。〃
Spangler turned his head and Breeze turned his head。 They grinned at each other。 Breeze poked the cigar at me。