Spencer picked up his glass of sherry and walked away as if he didn't want to hand me my drink. I let it stay where it was. "Otherwise what?" I asked him. "Otherwise she would have said something to the Coroner, wouldn't she?" He frowned atme. "I think we are talking nonsense. Just what did you want to see me about?" "You wanted to see me." "Only," he said coldy, "because when I talked to you from New York you said I was jumping to conclusions. That implied to me that you had something to explain. Well, what is it?" "I'd like to explain it in front of Mrs. Wade." "I don't care for the idea. I think you had better make your own arrangements. I have a great regard for Eileen Wade. As a businessman I'd like to salvage Roger's work if it can be done. If Eileen feels about you as you suggest, I can't be the means of getting you into her house. Be reasonable." "That's all right," I said. "Forget it. I can get to see her without digital marketing any trouble. I just thought I'd like to have somebody along with me as a witness." "Witness to what?" he almost snapped at me. "You'll hear it in front of her or you won't hear it at all." "Then I won't hear it at all." I stood up. "You're probably doing the right thing, Spencer. You want that book of Wade's—if it can be used. And you want to be a nice guy. Both laudable ambitions. I don't . The best of luck to you and goodbye." He stood up suddenly and started towards me. "Now just a minute, Marlowe. I don't know what's on your mind but you seem to take it hard. Is there some mystery about Roger Wade's death?" "No mystery at all. He was shot through the head with a Webley Hammerless revolver. Didn't you see a report of the inquest?" "Certainly." He was standing close to me now and he looked bothered. "That was in the eastern papers and a couple of days later a much fuller account in the Los Angeles papers. He was alone in the house, although you were not far away. The servants were away, Candy and the cook, and Eileen had been uptown shopping and arrived home just after it happened. At the moment it happened a very noisy motorboat on the lake drowned the sound of the shot, so that even you didn't hear it." "That's correct," I said. "Then the motorboat went away, and I walked back from the lake edge and into the house, heard the doorbell ringing, and opened it to find Eileen Wade had forgotten her keys. Roger was already dead. She looked into the study from the doorway, thought he was asleep on the couch, went up to her room, then out to the kitchen to make some tea. A little later than she did I also looked into the study, noticed there was no sound of breathing, and found out why. In due course I called the law." "I see no mystery," Spencer said quietly, all the sharpness gone from his voice. "It was Roger's own gun, and only reenex facial the week before he had shot it off in his own room. You found Eileen struggling to get it away from him. His state of mind, his behavior, his depressions over his work—all that was brought out." "She told you the stuff is good. Why should he be depressed over it?" "That's just her opinion, you know.
