Suddenly I felt a deep peace. I had the landlord in my power, now, and I didn’t have to hurry; I could take my time.

But Slim notched me down. “Get this hundred changed,” he said. “Give the landlord fifty and then have the telephone connected again.”

I took the hundred.

“Get some more sandwiches, too. We’ll be here late tonight.”

Well, the landlord wasn’t as sarcastic as I had feared. He defrosted slightly when he saw the fifty. Now we owed him only two hundred. I knew he was probably going to put us out on September the first, but I soothed my hurt feelings by imagining him walking around in his shorts. There is nothing else that will so undignify a man. But before long⁠—in fact, as soon as I could get to the Brain-Finder while Slim wasn’t watching⁠—I’d get the facts.

We watched Mrs. Ellingbery for four straight nights and days. She went visiting; she played bridge; she shopped. She never did give more than a second glance at any man, and she didn’t talk to any man over the phone. We could see her only when she looked at herself in the mirror. That was enough.

We followed her like two bloodhounds, from the time she ate breakfast until she went to bed at night, but Slim turned the machine off when she sat down to remove her stockings. Slim always was a gentleman.

We went back in “time”⁠—fast. Flashes here and there. But Mrs. Ellingbery was like Caesar’s wife. On the fifth day Slim called Tom Ellingbery and told him he was dropping the case, that his wife was above suspicion and it wasn’t worth while to watch her. I was glad, but Tom Ellingbery swore; anyway, he said he’d send a check for another hundred. Then Slim sat back and looked at me. “Now,” he said quietly, “we’ll turn this thing where it belongs.”