“Let’s go upstairs and talk,” I suggested, and helped him up the steep side of the gully.
We climbed into his roadster.
“Out of gas,” he said. “We’ve got a nice walk ahead of us.”
“We’ll get a lift. I had a man watching your house, and another one shadowing Gooseneck. They’ll be coming out after me, I reckon. Meanwhile, we have time for a nice heart-to-heart talk.”
“Go ahead, talk your head off,” he invited; “but don’t expect me to add much to the conversation. You’ve got nothing on me.” (I’d like to have a dollar, or even a nickel, for every time I’ve heard that remark!) “You saw Kewpie bump Gooseneck off to keep him from peaching on her.”
“So that’s your play?” I inquired. “The girl hired Gooseneck to kill your wife—out of jealousy—when she learned that you were planning to shake her and return to your own world?”
“Exactly.”
“Not bad, Ed, but there’s one rough spot in it.”
“Yes?”
“Yes,” I repeated. “You are not Ashcraft!”
He jumped, and then laughed.
“Now your enthusiasm is getting the better of your judgment,” he kidded me. “Could I have deceived another man’s wife? Don’t you think her lawyer, Richmond, made me prove my identity?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, Ed, I think I’m a smarter baby than either of them. Suppose you had a lot of stuff that belonged to Ashcraft—papers, letters,