Hollander sighed fretfully. “You must think I’m awfully dumb,” he said.
“Oh, not at all—well, in a few things, yes. Your choice of friends, for example. And I don’t mean the Endicotts.”
“Whom do you mean, Lieutenant?”
“That dark-eyed child, for one— Mr. Smith. But perhaps you don’t know that his name is not Smith. I imagine that when you left him in the apartment he was still either Jack Perry or Larry Nevins. He shows great versatility, really, in his adoption of names. I was just a little surprised and disappointed at his present selection of Smith.”
“You’ve been to my apartment, Lieutenant?”
“Yes. I had quite an enlightening talk with the present Mr. Smith. Where did you leave Endicott’s hat?”
Hollander, after one peevish glare, shut his eyes.
“I can tell you pretty well what happened, you see, except for that,” Lieutenant Valcour went on. “You did believe Mrs. Endicott this afternoon when she told you her intention. That much is fact. And now for a little fiction: either at the Ritz, or just as you were handing her into her car, you stole her purse.”
Hollander’s eyes snapped open and glared viciously.
“Because,” Lieutenant Valcour continued, “you wanted her keys—the keys to this house. You were a little hazy as to just what it was you intended to do, but you did know that you were going to kill Endicott,