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that this information had been the real purpose of his visit. I sat back and let Simon take it from there.
    “Yes,” he said, like a cautious hunter laying out the bait, “we’ve learned quite a bit concerning Professor Wilber, for instance. We followed him yesterday and saw him return to the funeral home during the supper hour. Amazing thing—he was in there all alone with the body.”
    “Alone?”
    Simon nodded. “He was running his fingers through her hair.”
    Mahon was in the act of lighting a cigarette when Simon spoke the words, and his fingers faltered. “What? Why would he do that?”
    “My friend here believes he might be planning to bring her back to life.”
    He looked at me as if I were crazy. “You really think that?”
    “Well, not really. It was sort of a joke.”
    “Is this whole thing a joke? Do you know who killed her or don’t you?”
    “Sometimes life is a joke,” Simon answered, “but we know who killed her.”
    “Who?”
    Simon closed his eyes. “The murderer will be at the funeral tomorrow morning.”
    “That’s all you’ll say?”
    “That is all I’ll say.”
    Mahon sighed as if disappointed and got up to leave. It was obvious that he was unhappy with the state of the interview, but there was nothing much for him to do about it. After mumbled thanks and promises to see us later he departed.
    “There’s a guy who’s really changed,” I observed. “He’s certainly not the rich playboy type any more.”
    “Men change for a reason,” Simon said. “Find the reason and you learn much.”
    “I gather from your conversation with him that we’re staying for the funeral tomorrow. Right?”
    “Right. One extra day, might make a great difference. I want you to do certain things for me while I am busy elsewhere today.”
    “What kind of things?” I always hated chasing around on missions for him like some third-rate Doctor Watson, but I could see I had little choice.
    “You must contact Quinn, the detective. Tell him to be at the funeral tomorrow morning. Tell him he must have some of his men in the crowd.”
    “He’d probably be there anyway,” I said. “Why do I need to tell him?”
    “Just so he’ll be prepared. Do it, will you?”
    “OK. Where are you going to be?”
    “At the University, with Professor Wilber. I believe a conversation with him might clear up the last of the haziness.”
    We went downstairs for breakfast and then separated. I was sorry to see him go, especially since I had only a vague knowledge of my real mission. Was it possible that Simon somehow suspected Quinn of being mixed up in the affair and wanted to scare him into the open. I’d met the man only briefly, but now I remembered the conflicting stories about his acquaintance with Cathy Clark. Well, stranger things had happened. Maybe Quinn was involved in some way.
    Baine City Police Headquarters was an old sandstone building badly in need of a cleaning. Outside, flanking a short stretch of steps, stood two battered brass lamp posts surmounted by green glass globes. It was the police station of the twenties brought strangely back to life, and as I entered I half expected to see a chorus line of flappers being booked for indecent exposure, or a bootlegger paying his token fine. All was dusty with neglect, like a library in a country of the blind. Maybe that was it—maybe there just wasn’t any crime in Baine City. No crime but murder.
    “Is Captain Quinn around?” I asked the man behind the desk, taking a wild guess at his rank.
    “You mean Sergeant Quinn?” he asked with a slight smile. “Yeah, he’s around somewhere. Have a seat.”
    I lowered myself onto a long dusty bench to wait. Presently one of the distant doors opened and I saw Quinn approaching with a well-dressed woman. It was Mrs. Foster Baine.
    “Fellow’s waiting for you, Sarge,” the man at the desk said.
    If Quinn was surprised to see me he didn’t show it. He said goodbye to Mrs. Baine and came over to me with an