That convertible top was down? Right?”

“Sure,” I said, frowning. “Why?”

“You were alone, of course; but do you remember whether you had anything in the seat beside you?”

“On the seat? Not that I remember. But what difference—?”

“Just something I got to wondering about,” he said easily. “Not important at all. But you know how it is; you get to working on one these things and you keep trying to get the whole picture—”

He went on. It was a pretty fair snow job, but it would take a better one to make you stop wondering why he’d asked a crazy question like that.

“—so the seat was empty?” he wound up.

“Of course,” I said. “That is, except for some dirty clothes.”

“Clothes?”

“A bag of laundry I was taking into town.”

“Laundry?” There was the faintest hint of excitement in his voice. Then he said, “Wait a minute. I don’t get it. I thought you said you were going to town to see a movie. It was after eight p.m., and all the laundries would be closed—”

I sighed. “You paying for this call?”

“Sure. But—”

“All right. As long as I’m not being nicked for the toll charges, I don’t mind going into a long-winded song and dance about some goofy thing that doesn’t amount to a damn. There’s a kid, see, at a filling station there in town. Just finished high school, and has an athletic scholarship at S.M.U. Or T.C.U. Or one of those Southwestern Conference schools. He knows who I am. Or used to be, I should say. He’s a football maniac, so if I asked him he’d wash the clothes himself with Lux flakes and dry ‘em by blowing his breath on ‘em. I intended to leave the bundle there at the station and have him call a laundry route man to pick it up the next morning. Save me a trip into town during the day when I could be fishing. That wrap it up?”

“Sure. I didn’t quite catch his uncle’s name, and when he was baptized, but you can call me collect from Omaha—”

“Well, you asked.”

“So I did. It was a pretty good-sized bundle, huh?”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost the check list,” I said wearily. “If it makes any difference how many dirty socks I had on hand in March—”

“I mean, it wasn’t just a couple of shirts?”

“No. It was a whole bunch of stuff in a white laundry bag. Some sheets, blankets, and so on, from the cabin—”

“Uh-uh,” he said slowly.

“I don’t scan you,” I said. “What difference—?”

“Just an angle,” he.