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divorced, widowed or what, Colonel Driver?" |
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"Single," Driver muttered. "Divorced? I guess she could have been. She never talked about a family." |
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The Inspector revolved slowly, turning away from the window to confront him. His eyes locked on the Lieutenant's and then Driver's. "Were you, uh, involved with the lady, Colonel?" |
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Harry Driver choked back a sardonic little laugh. "Involved? With Flora Saint Quentin? Come on, Inspector, did you get a good look at her? Miss Saint Quentin was a simpleminded woman with simple-minded ways. She had a very specific talent for keeping things orderly; nothing more." |
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Dawkins' multifaceted face assumed a look of instant puzzlement. He had lit another cigarette, this time taking more than one drag, and he was again putting his ashes in his cupped hand. Now he began to grope around in his coat pocket again and emerged with a crumpled piece of paper. He made a small production out of unfolding it and clearing his throat before he started to read. |
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"Darling Harry, |
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Why must you be away so long? The hours seem like an eternity without you. |
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Love, Flora." |
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