McGraw introduced us and asked them about the ice pick. They had not seen it, were positive it hadn’t been there. They wouldn’t have overlooked an article of its sort.

“Was it there last night?” McGraw asked me.

“I stood beside her while she chipped off pieces of ice with it.”

I described it. McGraw told the dicks to search her house again, and then to try to find the pick in the vicinity of the house.

“You knew her,” he said when Shepp and Vanaman had gone. “What’s your slant on it?”

“Too new for me to have one,” I dodged the question. “Give me an hour or two to think it over. What do you think?”

He fell back into sourness, growling, “How the hell do I know?”