Dorothy said, "Aren't we going to Riverside?"
"We are not."
"Calm down, hon."
"You listened to that horrible creature!"
"If Clinton McCauley didn't kill his wife," began Dorothy mildly.
"I don't care who killed his wife!" cried Nan. "Dick didn't!"
"Good idea to be sure," said Dorothy cheerfully.
"You can stop talking hke that," Nan said, "Or you can get out of this car. And go home."
Dorothy looked at her white profile.
"I'm going right straight to Dick and tell him what that sickening woman is saying," Nan cried.
"Good idea," said Dorothy gently.
Nan roared up the Bartee's private road and into the half-circle among the trees. Brakes screamed. Nan tumbled out.
Dick Bartee popped out of the front door. "What's the matter?" Nan raced up the wooden steps into his arms. "Now, hush." He held her and stroked her hair, and looked at Dorothy.
As Dorothy came slowly up, Blanche came out of the house. "What is it?" Blanche asked nervously.
Nan was sobbing. "Johnny and some horrible woman-saying you killed Christy."
"I knew this would happen," said Dick with a heavy sigh, "I wanted to tell you last night but your boy friend talked me out of it. Love, love, this is an old story." He held her a httle away smiling down.
"You—you knew about it?"
"Of course, I knew about it. People on McCauley's side, fighting to save him. Love, this was said about me, tested and settled, years ago."
"Oh," said Nan weakly.
Blanche said tensely, "We just must forget the whole thing."
But Dorothy said, "If there's a man in prison who says he didn't do it . . ."
"All men in prison say they didn't do it," snapped Blanche. "But he did. For heaven's sakes, come inside."
They went in as far as the hall.
Dick still held Nan in his arms. "I asked John Sims, last night, if he had heard this story about me. He said he had. I wish I'd done what I wanted to do. Told you about it. Don't be upset, love."
Nan wept, and it seemed as if she wept for herself, now. Dick, over her head, smiled at Dorothy.
"They proved you didn't do it, eh?" asked Dorothy brightly.
Blanche said stiffly, "Clinton McCauley did it. Will you please—"
"There must have been a to-do about you, though," said Dorothy to Dick. "Aunt Emily had heard this story."
Nan half turned; Dick shifted her within his arms. His gray eyes rested on Dorothy's face.
Dorothy said boldly, "Jo^^^^y did go to the hospital, the night he was called."
Nan took her head from Dick's breast.
"What did Aunt Emily tell him?" Dick asked in a cool, hght voice.
"Why, I suppose she remembered from the newspapers. She certainly knew your name had been connected with a murder. That's why she flew home. She really didn't Hke the idea of Nan marrying a murder suspect." Dorothy smiled. Tou can't exactly blame her."
He didn't move. He just looked at her.
"Why didn't Johnny say sol" Nan stormed. "Why is Johnny acting the way he is! I despise it!'
"Johnny got this job," said Dorothy, "to—well, natin-ally, since it isn't Dick who went to jail, I mean, Johnny isn't saying Dick is guilty—"
"Damned white of him," Dick said dryly.
"It was," said Dorothy staunchly, "white of him to try and see how much there was to the story before he spilled it out and upset Nan."
Nan wept.
Dick said, "Don't cry, love." He looked at Dorothy, "Somebody upset her. It wasn't I."
Blanche made an abrupt gestiure. "The Callahan woman— completely bad. A liar. You can't beheve a thing she'd say. You shouldn't have been taken anywhere near her." Blanche was furioiis.
"Now, Blanche," said Dick soothingly, "no harm." He kissed Nan's hair. "I only wash I'd saved you the shock." Then he said to Dorothy, in that cool hght voice, "What did Aunt Emily say to Sims in the hospital?"
"I told you," said Dorothy shortly. "Aunt Eimily loved Nan. Didn't want her hurt. And Johnny feels the same."
"Does he, though?" said Dick, with a suggestion of a smile. (Nan raised her head.) "I think he wouldn't mind getting rid of me, if he could. Don't blame him too much, love. Fact, he admitted as much last night. I told him to go ahead and have a try."
Nan's eyes began to shine. "Oh, Dick!" she said.
"I'm going to change," he said, "and take you girls to
lunch. Wash your face, sweetheart. I have a thought, Blanche. Ask John Sims to come to dinner."
"No," said Blanche flatly.
"What's this?" Bart Bartee had come into the wide hall from the back of the house. "We're due in the village, Dick. We're late."
"It's Sims checking whether I killed Christy,'' said Dick easily.
"Why do you want to ask him to dinner?" Bart said.
"Look," said Dick, "the poor guy's in love with my girl. So he's all over town. Better we talk to him."
Blanche said, "Please, Bart, I don't like this. Stop this Sims. Tell him to go away."
"I can't do that, Blanche," Bart said almost absentmind-edly.
"Of course not," joined Dick. "But I agree with Blanche that it's nothing to like—all over town. Best we talk to him ourselves. Tell him everything we know and straighten him out."
Blanche stared at him.
Nan said primly, "If I could only make Johnny realize that I am going^:o marry you."
Dorothy felt an impulse to hit her.
Dick laughed. "He'U catch on." He started Nan toward the stairs.
"What about our appointment?'' Bart said.
"Another day. You don't mind?" Dick kept walking.
Bart twitched his shoulders. A sardonic expression crossed his smooth face. Blanche's hands were twisting. Blanche's eyes seemed sunk deep into her head.
"Bart, he cannot come to dinnerl I won't call himl"
"I think it's not a bad idea." Bart's voice was quiet. "I'll call him."
Blanche winced as if he had whipped her. "No, I will—" she murmured. She turned to go.
Bart said, "You're not upset. Miss Dorothy?"
Dorothy said slowly, "No, although I am beginning to think that Clinton McCauley may be innocent."
"Are you?" said Bart with interest.
"He was guilty!" cried Blanche. "Everyone knowsl And anyway, it was seventeen years ago."
1 don't see," said Dorothy, "what difference the years make."
"Neither do I," said Bart.
Blanche put her head down and hurried away.
Johnny Sims got back to his motel about five p.m. His legs were weary. He had been everywhere in the town of Hestia. Hunting for the bus driver. Gone. Trying to find out where the uncle's best friend, one Ruiz, was now. Nobody knew. Looking for Bartee servants. Somebody said the Bar-tees' old yardman now hved in a Httle crossroads settlement about eight miles to the south. This was all he had gleaned. Almost notliing. He had run into more doubt.
Society, he reflected, punishes a man. The climate is against him. But after seventeen years, the climate has changed. Society wonders. Only evidence can stand up. Evidence is that which remains. In this case, there had not been enough, either way.
He kicked off his shoes, and sat down by the phone. Called San Francisco. Copeland. Reported.
"She knows, at least, that rumor was Dick Bartee did it," Johnny finished forlornly.
"How did she react?" the lawyer asked.
"She was angry."
"McCauley's still in the hospital," the lawyer said gloomily.
"No better?"
"Not much. What's your opinion now on Dick Bartee?"
"I'm getting the feeling he did it," said Johnny and exploded, "I've absolutely got to have more than just a feeling . . ." (He didn't trust his feelings.)
"You tell Nan the rest of it," Copeland said severely. "Or I will. Have you talked to Grimes?"
"Not today."
"You talk to him youseff," said Copeland, "and tell that girl the whole business. Quick."
"You're right," said Johnny. "I'll tell her. No later than tomorrow."
Johnny hung up, called Roderick Grimes.
Grimes was annoyed by Kate's story about housebreaking.
"No sense to it," he fumed. "If Dick Bartee killed Christy, then Dick Bartee got Christy's pin then and there out of the safe."