Across the table Howard Nelsing looked up, his blue eyes focused on a point beyond her. “Excuse me a minute, will you?” he said, and rose. “H’m,” Georgine said, trying to laugh. “We could have made an omelet with that last joke.” “Nothing’s funny to Nelse when he’s on a case,” McKinnon said, also gazing intently after the detective. “He wouldn’t believe any of those stories were true? They were all fiction, weren’t they?” “Sure. He must know that. But he thought of something, all at once; something that was said gave him an idea, maybe.” “But what?” He gave her one of his sidelong looks. “Couldn’t tell you. I hope your life is an open book?” “Well, certainly; but that doesn’t mean I want it investigated. I didn’t want to be in this.” “You can’t always choose,”
