I went down to the office, and Fritz was there, fully dressed. I sat at my desk, pulled the phone around, and dialed a number I didn't have to look up.

The attitude of Sergeant Purley Stebbins toward Wolfe and me is yes-and-no, or make it no-but-yes. When he finds us within ten miles of a homicide, he wishes he was on traffic or narcotics, but he knows that something will probably happen that he doesn't want to miss. My attitude toward him is that he could be worse. I could name a few that are.

At: A.M. he sat on one of the yellow chairs in the office, swallowed a bite he had taken from a tongue sandwich made with Fritz's bread, and said, "You know damn well I have to ask him if Ducos or anyone at the restaurant has ever said anything that could be a lead. Or someone does. Someone will come either at eleven o'clock or six."

I had finished my sandwich. "I doubt if he'll get in," I said. "Certainly not at eleven, and probably not at six. He may not be speaking even to me. A man murdered here in his house, within ten feet of him? You know him, don't you?"

"Do I. So does the inspector. I know you too. If you think you can-" I slapped my desk with a palm. "Don't start that again. I said in my signed statement that I went over him. There might have been something that I should have included when I phoned. But I took nothing.

One thing that's not in my statement? I admit I'm withholding evidence. Knowledge of something that would certainly be used at the trial, if and when."