“Who’s he?”
“He’s supposed to be her brother, or half-brother, or something of the sort. He isn’t. He’s a down-and-outer— T.B. He lives with her. She keeps him. She’s not in love with him or anything. She simply found him somewhere and took him in.”
“Any more?”
“There was that radical chap she used to run around with. It’s not likely she got much money out of him.”
“What radical chap?”
“He came here back during the strike—Quint is his name.”
“So he was on her list?”
“That’s supposed to be the reason he stayed here after the strike was over.”
“So he’s still on her list?”
“No. She told me she was afraid of him. He had threatened to kill her.”
“She seems to have had everybody on her string at one time or another,” I said.
“Everybody she wanted,” he said, and he said it seriously.
“Donald Willsson was the latest?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I had never heard anything about them, had never seen anything. The chief of police had us try to find any checks he may have issued to her before yesterday, but we found nothing. Nobody could remember ever having seen any.”