“Yes! He had gone through his own money and mine. And then he had to—to do a thing like that. He—”
I interrupted her complaint:
“He left a note, I hope—something that will be evidence.” Evidence that she hadn’t killed him, I meant.
“Yes.” She fumbled in the bosom of her black dress.
“Good,” I said, standing. “The first thing in the morning, take that note down to your lawyer and tell him the whole story.”
I mumbled something sympathetic and made my escape.
Night was coming down when I rang the Gungens’ bell for the second time that day. The pasty-faced maid who opened the door told me Mr. Gungen was at home. She led me upstairs.
Rose Rubury was coming down the stairs. She stopped on the landing to let us pass. I halted in front of her while my guide went on toward the library.
“You’re done, Rose,” I told the girl on the landing. “I’ll give you ten minutes to clear out. No word to anybody. If you don’t like that—you’ll get a chance to see if you like the inside of the can.”
“Well—the idea!”
“The racket’s flopped.” I put a hand into a pocket and showed her one wad of the money I had got at the Mars Hotel. “I’ve just come from visiting Coughing Ben and Bunky.”
That impressed her. She turned and scurried up the stairs.
Bruno Gungen came to the library door, searching for me. He looked curiously from the girl—now running up the steps to the third story—to