After lunch he took Betty in the car and began searching for an apartment; late in the afternoon, after a dozen stops, he saw her walk toward the car smiling, for the first time since they had started out.
“I’ve taken it,” she said. “It’s not much, but it’s not too bad, I can almost afford it, and I can get in right away. If you don’t mind a little more taxi service, I’ll pick up my bags and move in now.”
Conway knew that he was being irrational before he spoke. “Must you?” he asked. “Why don’t we have dinner, and then after it’s dark I’ll drive you over.”
She turned to him and smiled, that warm, adorable smile he was finding more and more irresistible. “If you like,” she said.
Conway expected Bauer to appear the moment they reached home, but when, after dinner, the table had been cleared, and he and Betty again sat over coffee and cigarettes, he became optimistic that he might have the evening alone with her. Her youthful enthusiasm, her mature tranquillity, he found more endearing than ever, and it required conscious effort to refrain from making love to her.
He had not told her about Helen and Taylor, not for the reasons Bauer had advanced, but simply because there had been no time to go into it. Now, because he wanted to be as honest as he dared be, there seemed no reason to withhold it.
“I got rather a shock this morning,” he said. “The police picked up a man who’s admitted he was having an affair with Helen.”
Betty looked up at him slowly. “Oh?” she said.
“You don’t seem very surprised.”
“Not particularly. Who was it?”
“A man named Taylor — I’d met him a couple of times. I didn’t even recognize him in the line-up. I’m afraid he’s in for rather a bad time.”
“You don’t think he had anything to do with it?”
Conway shook his head. “Regardless of your faith in the law of averages, I still think it was a maniac.”
“You didn’t suspect anything?”
“It never occurred to me. That’s what worried me this morning — that they wouldn’t believe me; that they’d start thinking they’d found a motive for me to kill her, and then go on from there. It’s a good thing they weren’t as suspicious as you.”
She looked at him soberly. “They didn’t know Helen as I did. I’m not surprised she had a lover, but she’d be too clever to let you find out, because then you could have divorced her. She couldn’t have endured that. No, I’m sure you didn’t know about it.”
“I don’t want to turn your pretty head with flattery,” he said, “but that’s the first logical observation you’ve made since you’ve been here.”
“Do you mind very much? I know it must have been a shock, but — do you care terribly?”
“I don’t care anything about any woman in the world — except you,” he said.
“Oh, my darling—” She was at his side in an instant. “I’ve so needed to hear that.” Her lips entreated a kiss and her arms encircled him fiercely. Then, “I’ve needed that even more,” she said.
“I wasn’t sure, after last night,” he said. “I didn’t know how you felt about it today.”
“I couldn’t stop loving you overnight. I don’t think I can stop loving you ever.”
“I’ve been afraid, a dozen times today, that I’d lost you.”
“You’ll never lose me,” she whispered. “Unless you want to.”
“I’m going to tonight — when you leave here.”
“I don’t want to leave you.” Her eyes lifted to his. “Oh, why can’t you have faith in me? What must I do to make you trust me?”
No man on earth, Conway thought, could doubt her. Or resist her. He could tell her, prove his faith in her, and she would be a haven where he could put aside his fears, his suspicions, his constant vigilance. He had to tell her: he was starving for this love she offered.
“I do trust you, my dearest,” he said, and at that moment the clangor of the doorbell echoed from the house.
They sprang apart guiltily. “It’s Bauer, damn him,” Conway said. “Stay here. I’ll get rid of him as soon as I can.”
It was not Bauer, but Larkin and another detective whom Conway saw when he opened the door.
“Want you at Headquarters right away,” Larkin said.
“What’s up?”
“I dunno. They never tell me anything.”
“I’ll get a coat and turn out some of these lights,” Conway said. He went into the dining room and noticed Larkin move to keep him in view. He stepped out onto the patio and blew out the two candles which were still alight on the table. Betty, on the settee, was out of sight of the detective.
“I have to go to Headquarters,” he whispered. “Wait for me, my darling.” In the darkness, he saw her nod her head. “I won’t be long.” He pretended to lock the door to the patio, picked up a coat, and rejoined the detectives in the hall.
Larkin drove and the other detective sat in back with Conway. Both men were unusually taciturn. Or perhaps, Conway thought, it seems that way because I’m used to Bauer. But try as he might, he was unable to elicit a shred of information from either of them.
The two men accompanied him to Ramsden’s office, and Larkin knocked before opening the door. He went inside for a moment, and then the door opened again, and he motioned for Conway to enter.
Ramsden, seated behind his desk, looked steadily at him as he came in. “Good evening, Captain,” Conway said.
“Hello, Conway.” The “Mister” was conspicuous by its absence, and Conway wondered whether this indicated familiarity or — or what? Bauer was seated at one side of the captain’s desk, and a young man at the other.
Ramsden indicated the young man. “This is Mr. Davis,” he said, and Conway noted that the young man was tall and thin, with a very high forehead and a collar to match. “He’s the assistant district attorney,” Ramsden continued.
“Good evening, Mr. Davis,” Conway said, and felt his throat begin to tighten even as he spoke.
“Hello, Conway,” Davis said. “I understand you murdered your wife.”
“What!” The word leaped involuntarily from Conway’s lips. He looked at Bauer, whose expression did not change, and then at Ramsden.
The captain nodded. “That’s right, Conway.”
Davis rose from his chair. “Sit down, Conway.” Larkin brought a chair and Conway sank into it. “We’ve got the whole thing taped,” Davis said as he sat on the edge of Ramsden’s desk. “You might as well make a full confession.”
He’s bluffing, Conway thought. They’ve got something, but he’s bluffing. He remembered the other times he had almost panicked because of something Bauer had said or done, and resolved that it would not happen again. “I don’t know how much you know about this case, Mr. Davis,” he was able to say in an almost completely normal voice. “But I didn’t murder my wife, and the captain and the sergeant know that I couldn’t have. They just happened to mention that only this morning.”
“That was this morning,” Ramsden said.
“Yes,” Davis said, “and since this morning, thanks to some excellent detective work by Sergeant Bauer, the picture has changed. What was not possible then has become very possible indeed.”
“I know. The Einstein theory.”
“Look, pal,” Bauer said, “there was a little mistake made — a lucky mistake for you, up to now. You been on borrowed time since the day after the body was discovered. If it hadn’t been that somebody put the right facts together wrong, I’d of had this wrapped up in twenty-four hours.”