Somewhere in the back of Kintyre's mind, a thin little warning whistle blew. He grabbed the arms of his chair and hung on tight. There was no time now to add up reasons why; he knew only that if he let Gene talk freely about Corinna, there was going to be trouble. "Never mind," he said coldly. "I'm not interested in that aspect. I came here because I don't think you murdered Bruce Lombardi and the police may think you did." That stopped them. Peter Michaelis looked up, his face turning a drained color. Gene puckered his lips, snapped them together, and went blank of expression. His dark gaze did not waver from Kintyre's, and he said quite steadily: "What are you getting at?" "Bruce was called over to the City by someone last Saturday evening," said Kintyre. "His body was found Monday morning. You know very well that if you'd called him, offering to patch up the quarrel, he'd have come like a shot. Where were you two this weekend?" "Why--" Peter Michaelis' voice wobbled. "I was home all day Saturday--housework. Went out for a drink at night--church Sunday morning, yeah, then came back for a nap. Hey, I played pinochle down in front of the warehouse that evening with--" His words trailed off. "Nobody glanced in, then?" asked Kintyre. "No one who could verify that Bruce wasn't lying bound and gagged?" "Why--I--" "Hey!" Gene Michaelis surged to his feet. It was a single swinging leap, propelled upward by his arms. His aluminum legs spraddled, seeking clumsily for a foothold. Somehow he got one of his canes and leaned on it. "What business is it of yours, anyway?" he snarled. _Can I tell you that I don't know?_ thought Kintyre. _Can I tell you I'm here because a girl I'd scarcely seen before now wanted me to come?_ _Hardly._ He leaned back with strained casualness and said: "I want to make peace between your two families. Call it a gesture toward Bruce. I admit I liked him. And he never stopped liking you, Gene. "If you keep on spewing hatred at the Lombardis as you have been, the police are going to get very interested in your weekend. Where were you?" Gene hunched his shoulders. "None of your God damn business." "I take it you weren't home, then." "No, I was not. If you want to ask any more, let's see your Junior G-man badge." Kintyre sighed. "All right." He stood up. "I'll go. The cops won't be so obliging, if you don't cooperate with them." He looked past Gene, to the window. It was a hole into total blackness. He wondered if that had been the last sight Bruce saw--of all this earth of majesty, a single smeared window opening on the dark. "I didn't do it," said Gene. "We didn't." He showed his teeth. "But I say three cheers for whoever did. I'd like to get the lot of 'em here, that sister now--" "Hold on!" The violence of his tone shivered Kintyre's skull. Afterward it was a wonder to him, how rage had leaped up.