"I think maybe I have," Kessler said. "I've seen Miss Schmitt."
"Ah, Spencer's old flame? And what did you learn?"
When Kessler was finished telling him there was a long pause. "Are you
still there, George?" he asked.
Brogan's voice was heavy. "Yes, Bob, I'm still here. Where are you
calling from? A public phone? Well, I think maybe you'd better come up
here. We have more to say than you have dimes and it won't hurt to
keep this to ourselves if we can--or till we're sure. Better bring
your complete files. Good. One point, though! Did anything I said this
afternoon help? I wondered. I couldn't really believe it myself. If
you'd said something, I wouldn't have felt I was going crazy. I've
been sitting here wondering if I should see a head doctor."
Margaret smiled philosophically when Kessler told her he had to go
back to see Brogan. "Some second honeymoon," she complained. "Well,
anyway, what about that drink and a steak dinner. I'll get us a hotel
room. Maybe tomorrow, like I always say."
* * * * *
It was nearly ten o'clock when Kessler and Brogan met Margaret at the
hotel dining room. "It's about time!" she declared. "I'm starving.
Hello there, George. What are you doing to my husband? Or vice versa?
We were going to go on a second honeymoon and now he has that
fiend-for-work look in his eye!"
"My dear Margaret," Brogan said, holding her hand and smiling
gallantly, "I must deeply apologize for keeping Bob. And I'm almost
frightened to say that it looks as though it will be for some time
longer. We will have to go back after dinner and it may be some days
before either of us has much free time."
Margaret looked at them suspiciously, with the brightness in her eye
that came from her first martini. "What are you two up to now? Some of
this top secret stuff? I might know! I can't get away from it! Never
mind, I'll worm it out of Bob when I get him alone. If that ever
happens!"
They carefully avoided any further reference to the investigation
until they were halfway through dinner in the nearly deserted dining
room. Margaret, mellowed by a second martini and all of her steak
which she ate, sighed. "Poor Miss Schmitt," she said. "I've been
feeling sorry for her all evening when I haven't been feeling sorry
for myself."
"Why Miss Schmitt?" Kessler asked, chewing.
"Oh, I shouldn't, I know. Bob Spencer would probably have been a worse
husband than you are. But at least I'm glad I went along with you to
visit her. I settled something that's been bothering me."
"What was that, dear?" Kessler asked, raising a juicy morsel of steak
to his lips.
"Why, that he was accident prone."
Kessler lowered his fork. "Yes, you mentioned that before," he said
carefully. "I was telling George about it. But why did you think he
might be?"
Margaret looked at their startled faces. She fluttered her hands.
"Well, everyone else on the plane was."
The three of them stared at each other. "Did I say something wrong?"
she asked nervously. "Well, they were, you know! The stewardesses both
had broken their legs. And the flight engineer got a black eye walking
into a door. You remember, Bob, you couldn't be sure how it happened,
but that must have been it. Even the pilot had cut himself shaving.
That very morning!"
Kessler and Brogan had stopped eating and were watching her intently.
"Stop staring," she said indignantly. "You're making me nervous.
What's wrong?"
"Nothing, dear," Kessler said quietly. "It's very interesting. Go on."
She looked at him suspiciously. "Well, when it comes to the
passengers! What do you mean? You know all this!"
"Go on," Brogan said.
"Well, one man was even in another plane crash before. I forget his
name."
"Pearlow," Kessler murmured.
"Pearlow, yes. And Dr. Pollitt who was blinded in an accident. I don't
really know about your friend Miss Bennett, senator."