“Those things,” he said, “concern Thaler, not Miss Brand.”

“Thaler and Miss Brand aren’t strangers,” I said. “Willsson brought a five-thousand-dollar check here, and was killed leaving. That way, Miss Brand might have had trouble cashing it⁠—if Willsson hadn’t been thoughtful enough to get it certified.”

“My God!” the girl protested, “if I’d been going to kill him I’d have done it in here where nobody could have seen it, or waited until he got out of sight of the house. What kind of a dumb onion do you take me for?”

“I’m not sure you killed him,” I said. “I’m just sure that the fat chief means to hang it on you.”

“What are you trying to do?” she asked.

“Learn who killed him. Not who could have or might have, but who did.”

“I could give you some help,” she said, “but there’d have to be something in it for me.”