Montaine fidgeted on the edge of the chair, pushed his hair back with his spread fingers. "My wife," he said, "is rather mysterious, rather secretive. I think she acquired that habit from the fact that she's been supporting herself and wasn't accountable to any one. She isn't the type to volunteer explanations."

"That still doesn't tell me anything."

"She was," Montaine said, "that is, she really is… What I mean to say is… well, she's very friendly with a doctor—a physician who does quite a bit of operative work at the Sunnyside Hospital."

"What's his name?"

"Doctor Millsap—Doctor Claude Millsap."

"And you thought she went to meet this Doctor Millsap?" Montaine nodded, shook his head, then nodded again.

"And you were afraid to question her because you didn't want to have your suspicions confirmed?"

"I was afraid to ask her at the time, yes."

"Then what happened?"

"Then this morning I realized what must have happened."

"When did you realize what must have happened?"

"When I saw the paper."

"When did you see the paper?"

"About an hour ago."

"Where?"

"In a little allnight restaurant, where I stopped to get some breakfast."

"You hadn't had breakfast before that?"

"Yes, I got up early this morning. I didn't know just what time it was. I made some coffee and drank three or four cups of it. Then I went for a long walk, and stopped in at the restaurant on the way back. That was when I saw the newspaper."

"Did your wife know you had gone?"

"Yes, she got up when I was making the coffee."

"Did she say anything?"

"She asked me how I'd slept."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her I'd slept so soundly I hadn't heard a thing all night; that I hadn't even rolled over in bed."

"Did she make any statements?"

"Yes, she said she'd slept very well, herself; that it must have been the chocolate that made us sleep so soundly. She said she went to bed and didn't know anything from the time her head hit the pillow until she woke up."

"And did your wife sleep well—after she came in?" Mason asked.

"No. She took something, a hypodermic I think it was. She's a nurse, you know. I heard her in the bathroom, moving around, opening the medicine chest. Even then she didn't sleep. She did a lot of twisting and turning."

"How did she look this morning?"

"She looked like the very devil."

"But she told you she'd slept well?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't question her statement?"

"No."

"Did you make any comment whatever?"

"No."

"And you made the coffee as soon as you got up?"

Montaine lowered his eyes. "It sounds bad when I tell it," he said, "but it was really the most natural thing in the world. I looked around, of course, when I got up, and I saw my wife's purse lying on the dressingroom table. She was lying quietly then, drugged, you know. I opened it and looked inside."

"Why?"

"I thought I might find some clew."

"Clew to what?"

"To where she'd been."

"But you didn't ask her because you were afraid she'd tell you," Mason said.

"By that time," Montaine blurted, "I was in an awful mental state. You don't know anything about the agonies I suffered during the still hours of the night. Remember that I had to pretend that I was drugged. I couldn't turn and twist in the bed. I just had to lie in the one position without moving. It was agony. I heard the clock strike every hour, and…"

"What did you find in her purse?" Mason asked.

"I found a telegram addressed to R. Montaine at one twentyeight East Pelton Avenue. The telegram was signed 'Gregory' and said, 'Awaiting your final answer five o'clock today extreme limit. "

"You didn't take the telegram?"

"No, I put it back in her purse. But I haven't told you all about it yet."

"Tell me all about it then. Get started. I don't want to have to drag it out of you a bit at a time."

"There was a name and address penciled on the telegram. It was Gregory Moxley, three sixteen Norwalk Avenue."

"The name and address of the man who was killed," Mason said thoughtfully. Montaine nodded his head in quick acquiescence. "Did you," Mason asked, "notice whether her keys were in her purse at the time?"

"No, I didn't. You see, at that time there was nothing to make me notice that particularly. I found the telegram, and, as soon as I read it, I thought that I understood why she'd gone out."

"Then it wasn't Doctor Millsap that she went to meet?"

"Yes, I think it was Millsap, but I didn't think so at the time."

"What makes you think it was Millsap?"

"I'm coming to that."

"For God's sake, go ahead and come to it, then."

"After my wife went out, I was in agony. I finally decided to call Doctor Millsap and let him know that I knew of his friendship with my wife."

"What good would that have done?"

"I don't know."

"Anyway, you called Doctor Millsap?"

"Yes."

"What time?"

"Around two o'clock."

"What happened?"

"I could hear the ringing noise of the telephone, and then, after a while, a Japanese servant answered the telephone. I told him I must speak with Doctor Millsap at once, that I was desperately ill."

"Did you give him your name?"

"No."

"What did the Jap say?"

"He said Doctor Millsap was out on a call."

"Did you leave word for the Doctor to call when he came back?"

"No, I hung up the telephone. I didn't want him to know who was calling."

Mason shook his head, took a deep breath. "Would you kindly tell me," he said, "why the devil you didn't have the matter out with your wife? Why you didn't confront her when she returned to the house? Why you didn't ask her what she meant when she handed you the drugged chocolate? Why you didn't…"

The young man drew himself up with dignity. "Because," he said, "I am a Montaine. We don't do things that way."

"What way?"

"We don't brawl. There are more dignified ways of settling those matters."

"Well," Mason said wearily, "you saw the newspaper this morning, and then what happened?"

"Then I realized what Rhoda… what my wife must have done."

"What?"

"She must have gone to meet Moxley. Doctor Millsap must have been there. There was a fight. Doctor Millsap murdered Moxley. My wife was mixed up in it in some way. She was in the room at the time. Her key container was left there. The police will trace it to her. She'll try to shield Millsap."

"What makes you think so?"

"I feel positive that she will."

"Did you say anything to your wife about the garage doors being open?"

"Yes," Montaine said; "from the kitchen window it's possible to look over to the garage. I called her attention to the garage doors when I was making the coffee."

"What did she say?"

"She said she didn't know anything about it at first, and then, later on, she said she 'remembered' that she had left her purse in her car and had locked up the garage. She said that just before she went to bed she remembered it and went out to get the purse."

"How did she get in if she didn't have her keys?"

"That's what I asked her," Montaine said. "You see, she's rather forgetful about her purse. She's left it around two or three times. Once she lost over a hundred dollars. And she keeps her keys in her purse. So I asked her how it happened she could have opened the door if her purse was locked in the car?"

"What did she say?"

"She said she got the extra key out of the desk."

"Did she seem to be lying?"

"No, she looked me straight in the eye and said it very convincingly."

Mason made drumming noises on the edge of his desk with the tips of his fingers. "Exactly what is it," he asked, "that you want me to do?"

"I want you to represent my wife," Montaine said. "I want you to promise me that you'll see to it she doesn't get herself into this thing trying to shield Doctor Millsap. That's first. The second thing I want is for you to protect my father."