Thursday went shopping on Fifth Avenue. Met Stephen Barry for luncheon. He took her to Central Park; spent afternoon in open. S.B. escorted her home before five. S.B. stayed to dinner, leaving after dinner for work at Roman Theatre on call from stage manager. F. I.-P. spent evening at home with family. No report Friday morning. No suspicious actions all week. At no time accosted by strange persons. No communication from or to Benjamin Morgan. Operative No. 39 OK’d: T. V. “And that’s that,” murmured the Inspector. The next report he selected was extremely short. Report on Oscar Lewin September 28, 192- Lewin spent all day Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday morning at office of Monte Field working with Messrs. Stoates and Cronin. Three men lunched together on each day. Lewin married, lives in Bronx, 211 E. 156th Street. Spent every evening at home. No suspicious mail, no suspicious calls. No evil habits. Leads sober, modest life. Has good reputation. Operative No. 16 Note: Full details of Oscar Lewin’s history, habits, etc., available on request through Timothy Cronin, Assistant District Attorney. T. V. The Inspector sighed as he deposited the five sheets of paper on his plate, rose, doffed his hat and coat, flung them into Djuna’s waiting arms and sat down again. Then he picked up the last report from the contents of the envelope—a larger sheet to which was pinned a small slip marked: MEMORANDUM TO R.Q. This slip read: Dr. Prouty left the attached report with me this morning for transmission to you. He is sorry he could not report in person, but the Burbridge poison-case is taking all his time. It was signed with Velie’s familiar scrawling initials. The attached sheet was a hastily typewritten message on the letterhead of the Chief Medical Examiner’s office. Dear Q [the message ran]: Here’s the dope on the tetra ethyl lead. Jones and I have been superintending an exhaustive probe of all possible sources of dissemination. No success, and I think you can resign yourself to your fate in this respect. You’ll never trace the poison that killed Monte Field. This is the opinion not merely of your humble servant but of the Chief and of Jones. We all agree that the most logical explanation is the gasoline theory. Try to trace _that_, Sherlocko! A postscript in Dr. Prouty’s handwriting ran: “Of course, if anything turns up, I’ll let you know immediately. Keep sober.”