Go home, stranger - By Charles Williams Page 0,3

to Lieutenant Wayland,” Reno said. “And to Carstairs, in San Francisco. So we can skip all the obvious stuff. What I want to know is whether Mac told you why he was down here. And did he say who that girl was?”

“He was looking for somebody. A man named—I’ve forgotten, Pete. He told me the man’s name, but I didn’t pay much attention.”

“The man’s name was Conway,” Reno said. “I know that much. But did Mac say why he was doing a crazy thing like that?”

“No,” she said helplessly. “We didn’t talk about it much. I do know, though, that he had something on his mind. Oh, of course, we were both delirious about being together again and full of plans for when we got back to San Francisco, but you know how Mac is when he’s working on something—he’s all wound up in it.” She stopped suddenly and looked at him and they could both feel the horror of it, of that slip of the tongue that had referred to Mac in the present tense.

“But about the girl,” Reno cut in, to cover it. “Did he say who she was, and why she was there?”

“Yes.” She nodded, her face very white. “It was about this—what’s-his-name—Conway. She had something to tell him, or had already told him, and they were going into the hotel bar. Mac wanted to write it down.”

“Did Mac introduce you?”

“Yes.”

“What was her name?”

She stared at him and sighed. “Pete, I don’t know. Even if I had paid any attention at the time—”

“Could you describe her?”

“Pete, dear, any woman can always describe any other woman she sees with her husband. But, for the love of heaven, do we have to talk about her? That’s what the police have been harping on until I’m half crazy. She didn’t have anything to do with it. The person I heard talking to Mac while I was in the bathroom was a man.”

He shook his head. “You don’t get what I’m driving at, Vick. Of course she didn’t have anything to do with it— at least, not in the way they think. But look. Somebody killed Mac; and he didn’t have any enemies as far as either of us knows, or as far as Carstairs knows. So the only thing in God’s world we’ve got to go on is this stupid Conway deal. And she must have been mixed up in that some way. What did she look like?”

“She was about twenty-five, I should say. Very striking brunette, in summer clothes. Cottons, you know—white.”

“Never mind what she was wearing,” Reno said. “It’s been ten days, and she just might have changed into something else.”

“Oh. Well, she was about five feet six, I’d guess, good figure, dark brown eyes, jet-black hair cut short and curled close to her head, something like the poodle haircut—or did they have that in the Andes? She had a dimple in her chin, and a good sun tan. Educated, good voice very close to contralto, no Southern drawl. Poised.”

Reno nodded thoughtfully. “In other words, a dish. A girl people would notice. But why haven’t the police been able to find her?”

She sighed. “I don’t know whether the fantastic noodle-heads have even tried. Or if they have, they’ve been looking in the wrong places. Their idea is she was some floozie Mac picked up in a bar. She wasn’t, quite obviously.”

“O.K,” Reno said, with more assurance than he felt. “It’s something to start with. But now—did you get even a glimpse of the guy? I mean, when you ran out of the bathroom?”

She shook her head wearily. “No. That’s the horrible part of it, Pete. He was right there within ten feet of me, and by the time I got out into the room he was gone. But maybe I wouldn’t have seen what he looked like, anyway. I was looking at Mac. He was crumpled, lying—” Her voice started to break up on her. She stopped and took a deep breath, looking away from him. When she turned back she had everything under control again and she went on calmly, “Mac was dead. That’s what I was trying to say.?

“But you did hear them talking? Before, I mean?”

“Yes. But I wouldn’t recognize his voice. It was only a mumble.”

“You didn’t hear even one word that was said?”

She put both hands up alongside her face with an infinite weariness. “Pete, I've gone back and forth through it a thousand times. And I don’t think so. I keep having