bag Valeria Schmitt or whatever her name is? Brogan was right, that's just about as farfetched a notion as has come down the pike in a long time."

"Well, it may be farfetched, but she's not an old bag. I called her to make sure she'd be at home. I didn't know how long you'd take in there. She was very excited that you were coming to see her."

"Did she know who I was?"

"Of course, even aside from the letters. She's been following the investigation very carefully. She didn't seem to think it was at all curious that you wanted to see her because she knew someone twenty-five years ago."

Kessler laughed as they stepped out into the hot sunlight. "Well, if she's not a bag she's a bat. The more I think about it the crazier it seems. Suppose we get it over with now and start for Maine tonight. We'll be all set to go."

"Good! Good! That's the way I like to hear you talk. We'll make it a second honeymoon."

Margaret was still musing dreamily when they finally got to the car and started off in the direction of Silver Spring, where Valeria Schmitt lived in maiden retirement. "It will be just wonderful, dear," she said and then sighed. "Oh, but it reminds me of those poor Valentes, going off on their honeymoon."

"Now, now. I'm the one who's supposed to be obsessed with the crash, not you."

"Oh, but that was so sad. He was so handsome. And she was a pretty little thing, too, if you could tell from the wedding pictures. And then having postponed the wedding twice, too! It seems just like some fate was dogging them."

Kessler chuckled. "I don't think mumps really qualifies as an evil fate."

"No, but can you imagine! First him and then her! If it had been only one or the other they would both be alive and happy today."

"Alive anyway. I talked to some of his friends who suggested he was a mean one even before he had mumps." He smiled at his wife. "Even if he was good-looking. And now will you look out for Miss Schmitt's number before I pile us up and we miss out on our second honeymoon?"

Miss Schmitt proved to look as well as sound much younger than Kessler knew her to be, a bright and plump little woman with very very blond hair tightly curled. Margaret had come along into her little apartment without much urging. Miss Schmitt had apparently been expecting both of them because she had three flower-painted glasses out for lemonade.

"I suppose I'm old-fashioned," she was saying cheerfully before they were even settled, "but I don't hold by cocktails. Nothing more cooling than good old lemonade. Real lemons, too, not this bottled stuff. You know what they say—you can take them out of the country but you can't take the country out of them!" She laughed breathlessly. "I've been living in the big city for twenty-five years now but I'm still an Ioway girl. Get back almost every year, too, still perfectly at home there. I'll be sitting out on the veranda next month drinking lemonade and shooing flies like I'd never been away!" She laughed her breathless laugh again.

Margaret was obviously enjoying herself as much as Valeria Schmitt. Even Kessler was relaxed now, leaning back in the choice chair by the window with his collar pulled open. His search had been a neurotic one, he decided, as he listened to Miss Schmitt's pleasant chatter. He realized he would learn nothing here, but now he was not angry even with himself.

Miss Schmitt had taken the first opportunity to explain that she was a lot younger than her old boy friend, who had died in the crash at the age of seventy-three. "Of course my family were against Bob Spencer for that reason, too. He was almost fifteen years older than me." Kessler suppressed a smile. He knew the difference in age was more like ten years, but Miss Schmitt was secure in her blond, plump good cheer. "It's a little too much," she went on, "fifteen years, but then we never really did hit it off. Never really broke off, either." She held up her hand, displaying a ring. "See. Just got it out a few months ago. Haven't worn it for I don't know how many years. When I left Iowa City—"

"I thought it was Keokuk?" Margaret interrupted. She was perfectly at home with Valeria as she sipped her lemonade.

"No, honey." It was girl-talk now and Kessler was happy to let it go on, feeling suddenly very tired. "We worked together as stenographers in Iowa City. I was from right near there, but Bob was from Keokuk. That's where he retired to. Anyway I got this job in Washington during the war—World War II, that is—and I went back pretty often and saw Bob but I was young and foolish at the time and kept putting off and putting off the wedding and then it just never did happen. I offered Bob his ring back but he wouldn't hear of it. Said maybe it would still work out for us. Course by this time I knew it never would."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Kessler caught the note of real sincerity in Margaret's voice. "That seems too bad."

"Oh, why be sorry?" Valeria asked gaily. "I'm not. Bob was real sweet in his way but he was a real stick-in-the-mud even when I first met him."

"I understand he was actually a recluse in his later years," Kessler said.

"Later years! Lord, he was a recluse when he was thirty-five. Worried about everything. I never regret it. My friends used to say I was snapping him out of it but I could never see much sign of it. Wore gloves all the time to protect his hands and so he wouldn't get any germs. It must have been the lemonade I was making a little while ago, Mrs. Kessler, when you called, reminded me of one time when he was visiting me back in Iowa. Just like I said, we were sitting on the veranda drinking lemonade I do believe and swatting flies and Bob was laughing and talking along with everyone else. Well, he was in a rocker just like this one and I gave him the fly swatter because he was laughing at me and I said, 'O.K., mister, you go ahead and try to hit one if you're so smart.' And he gave a great big swing, laughing, and that rocker went right over the edge of the veranda!" She laughed her breathless laugh till she had to dab at her eyes.

Kessler and Margaret smiled at her innocent memories. Kessler suppressed a yawn. "Oh, my," Margaret said, "the poor man! How embarrassing if he was that shy."

Miss Schmitt examined her lacy handkerchief in sadly smiling recollection. "I shouldn't laugh now," she said, "but it was so funny. He didn't think so, of course! He stomped right out of the yard without a word. I wouldn't have thought it was funny then if I'd known how bad he hurt himself. He was laid up for about three weeks. I guess that was the beginning of the end for us. Bob said every time he went out something terrible happened to him. Poor fellow. He was right at that. Just a bad luck artist."

Miss Schmitt was prepared to reminisce indefinitely. Kessler decided he had better come to the point. "I don't suppose, Miss Schmitt," he asked, "that you and Mr. Spencer ever discussed politics?"

She shrugged. "Why, yes, I guess we did a little, being among politicians in court and all. We were both good solid Republicans though, so we didn't have much to say back in those days. I voted for Roosevelt in 1940 but Bob didn't mind."

"This may sound farfetched, Miss Schmitt, but to your knowledge was Mr. Spencer ever interested in Communism?"

"Bob?" she asked incredulously. "Bob interested in Communism? We didn't even know what Communism was out there. Never! You can count that out, mister."

"I'm sure we can," Kessler said. "Did he drink?"

"Not a drop! I wouldn't have put up with that myself."

"Would you ever have thought he was suicidally inclined?"

She thought about this one. "You mean he might have put a bomb on the plane? Like that fellow did a few years ago?" She shook her head slowly. "I can't believe Bob would kill anybody else just to kill himself. What would be the point?"

"Exactly. He left no one behind him. Didn't even take out an insurance policy. But, of course, people