I took off my hat and made a hesitant step forward. She made no move to prevent my entrance, and when I was in she softly closed the door behind me.
The apartment was in excellent taste and had obviously cost someone a lot of money. Maybe that someone got his money’s worth, I don’t know. I looked at the weeping girl and didn’t attempt a valuation.
The place was decorated in green, several shades of it. The davenport was unusual, it must have been all of seven feet in length. I envied the guy that; my feet always stuck over the end of mine. There was an ash tray at every conceivable place a man would want to sit down and all of them were spotlessly clean. Chinese prints were on the walls.
I had to begin talking sometime.
“Nice place you have here.” That was lame.
“It isn’t mine. It’s... Leonore’s.”
“May I ask your name.”
“Eleanor.”
“Call me Chuck if you like.”
“What do you want?”
She sank onto the long davenport, drying her eyes. She was pretty against the green wall. I took a chair across from her. What did I want?
What didn’t I want! I wanted everything I could possibly pump from her. I wanted the full story of all that was going on about me which I couldn’t understand. Slim chance of getting that much from Eleanor. Looking across the room at her, at her set face, her curvacious but stiffly held body, I realized it would be necessary to hand her a couple of stiff jolts to get anything from her. I wanted her confidence and why should she give that to a stranger? I thought I had a way of getting it. It might or might not be a lousy trick — but I had buried her sister, and she didn’t know where.
I’ve sunk to a new depth, Louise. Or shall we say I am once again floating at my accustomed level? I was fully prepared to trade a body for information.
What did I want?
“I’d like some information about Leonore.”
“You are a detective.” She spat that out as an accusation, not as a question.
“Yes,” I admitted cheerfully. “But that shouldn’t frighten you. It isn’t my intention to pry into your affairs. I’m interested only in Leonore.”
Lie, Mr. Horne, big fat lie.
“You are a detective,” she repeated bitterly.
“I’d particularly like to know about Leonore and Harry Evans,” I went on. She knew I was watching her but she failed to hide the tightening of her lips.
“It’s like this,” I continued in a frank, warm manner, “Evans dropped in on me in Boone and hired me for a few days. Before I could... well, you probably know he was killed?”
She nodded quickly, too quickly. Her lips said nothing; but her eyes and her actions shouted a great clamor. Her eyes were vindictive, inhumanly satisfied. Eleanor had shared Leonore’s secret. Shared her revenge.
“The cops over there,” I said, “are still hunting for a hit-and-run driver. They don’t know — yet — that that driver is... (I almost said dead and buried)... is out of their reach.”
I paused. Eleanor said, “And?”
“And I was looking for her until I met you a moment ago. After all, I was in Evans’ pay and my loyalty, if you want to call it that, was to him. At least until I found I could do no more for him. I’m well enough acquainted with Leonore to know you are telling the truth when you say you are her sister. I should have seen that right away.”
“And?” she repeated in the same old rut.
“Of course, I have no actual proof she
She was going to say “And?” again but I beat her to it.
“And nothing much. My case for Evans is wound up. I had met Leonore previous to the finding of the... previous to her death. I counted myself as a sort of friend. She was nice to me.”
Eleanor glanced at me sharply, her brows drawn close. I smiled the suspicion away.
“No. Don’t take me wrong. She did me a small favor, no more. I liked her for it. I rather think she liked me in the short time we knew each other. We talked about skating, and things.” That was stretching it mighty thin but then Eleanor couldn’t know everything about her sister.
“At any rate, there the matter hangs.” I thought it about time for teasing. “I’m washed up with the Evans business. But because of our friendship I would like to do something for Leonore. I’d like to clear up in my mind the connection between her and Evans. I mean, in view of what she did.”
“Why should I tell you anything?” she countered. She seemed to take my knowledge of the hit-and-run thing calmly.
“Because I want to help her,” I emphasized. “I want this information for myself, not the police. Can’t you understand I’m doing this because I liked the girl? I’m not trying to get any money out of it.”
Eleanor leaned against the back of the davenport and folded her arms. Her head rested on the cool, green covering. She bit out five annoyed words.
“What are you talking about?”
I let her have it the hard way.
“Why — I think she was murdered. Don’t you?”
