He steered me into a chair in the little conference room and put on a waiting face.

“I was supposed to lecture tonight on the Wallace case, you remember? William Herbert Wallace and his wife, Julia, England, 1931?”

He nodded his curly pale head and I could see he was a million miles away. I felt like slapping him again. I knew I sounded like an idiot, but I was coming to the point. “I don’t know how much you remember about the Wallace case-if you don’t know anything, I can fill you in later.” I waved my hands to show that was inconsequential, here came the real meat. “What I want to tell you, what’s important, is that Mamie Wright’s been killed exactly like Julia Wallace. She’s been arranged.”

Bingo! That blue gaze was almost frighteningly intense now. I felt like a bug impaled on a pin. This was not a lightweight man.

“Point out a few comparisons before the lab guys get here, so I can have them photographed.”

I blew out a breath of relief. “The raincoat under Mamie. It hasn’t rained here in days. A raincoat was found under Julia Wallace. And Mamie’s been placed by the little oven. Mrs. Wallace was found by a gas fire. She was bludgeoned to death. Like Mamie, I think. Mr. Wallace was an insurance salesman. So is Gerald Wright. I’ll bet there’s more I haven’t thought of yet. Mamie’s about the same age as Julia Wallace… There are just so many parallels I don’t think I could’ve imagined them.”

Arthur stared at me thoughtfully for a few long seconds. “Are there any photographs of the Wallace murder scene?” he asked.

The xeroxed pictures would have come in handy now, I thought.

“Yes, I’ve seen one, there may be more.”

“Was the husband, Wallace, arrested?”

“Yes, and convicted. But later the sentence was overturned somehow or other, and he was freed.”

“Okay. Come with me.”

“One more thing,” I said urgently. “The phone rang when I got here tonight and it was someone asking for Julia Wallace.”