Corinna stared into her drink. "We got a couple of hotel rooms down there," she said flatly. "We did a little drinking. Gene did more than a little. He made several open passes at me. I was afraid of a fight, but this girl and I got to bed at last. Back in their room, Gene's and Bruce's, Gene kept on drinking. He urged Bruce to come with him, into our room. Well, what would you expect? Bruce lost his temper and threw a punch at him. It couldn't have hurt--outside--but I wonder what it did to Gene, really. He started screaming about how we were all against him. I could hear him through the wall. We'd come down in his car. He said we could all find our own way home, he staggered out to his car and drove back along the highway--drunk." Corinna brought her voice under control again. "That's all. We heard of the accident after we got home next day on the bus. We went to see him in the hospital as soon as we could. How he cursed us! Bruce was crying too, when we left." "I know," said Kintyre. "I saw him a day or so later." And, briefly, he told her what Margery had done. She seemed to thaw before his eyes. "If there could be such a thing as a blessed sin--" "Now let's return to business," said Kintyre. "I want to get the nightmare off your back. _Imprimis_, how sorry are you for Gene? Actually?" She hesitated. At last: "That's impossible to answer." "He got what he asked for. It's pure luck the man in the other car wasn't killed." "I suppose so." Hardness grew along her jawline. "And if he murdered my brother--how does the saying go? God may forgive him, but I never can." "Good. However, _secundus_: He was not involved in Bruce's death." "What makes you so certain?" she demanded, almost belligerently. "Let me tell you what happened last night." _Was it only last night?_ He related it in a few words. She looked at him so strangely that he was puzzled, until it came to him that not many college professors enter waterfront tenements and throw people around. "I hope you don't think I asked for the brawl," he finished. "I'm ashamed of it. But it gave me the proof I needed." Her hand stole out, toward the plaster on his forehead. "Is that how you got hurt?" she asked softly. "No." He continued hastily: "A strong possibility is that Bruce was killed by professionals. Imported murderers are likeliest, since the police will be seining all local toughs." "Gene lived in Chicago," she murmured through tightened lips. "Gene and his father are stonkering poor. Even if Gene has a murderer friend, such a job would not be done just as a favor." "Then they could have done it themselves, father and son."