The Father Hunt

I grinned at him. Even in that pickle, that called for a grin. "I'm right with you," I said. "We have never considered McCray; we were considering only Jarretts. You were considering McCray for the first time when I went to let that wretch out, and so was I. He is our only source for the fact that the checks were charged to Cyrus M. Jarrett. We have had no corroboration of it. Might they have been actually charged to McCray? Certainly. Might he have had opportunities to impregnate Carlotta Vaughn during the summer of nineteen forty-four? Certainly. But in that case, Jarrett knew nothing about the checks, and why didn't he just kick me out?"

I waved a hand. "I reported it verbatim. Jarrett said, "Those checks are in the files of the Seaboard Bank and Trust Company. Who told you about them?' The next day, Thursday, why did the name Carlotta Vaughn, just the name, get me to him? Why was he ready with those

places and dates for that summer? His whole reaction, everything he said." I shook my head. "The checks came from Cyrus M. Jarrett. Since you had a good two minutes to consider McCray I'm surprised that you bothered to mention him."

"You saw Mr. Jarrett and I didn't."

"And I have no desire to see him again. Forget McCray."

"Then we're left with nothing."

"We have Saul and Fred and Orrie. And me. And, oh, yes, excuse me, we have you."

He looked at his current book, always there on the desk, picked it up, dropped it, and glared at me.

10

Sixty-eight hours later, at three o'clock Thursday afternoon, Wolfe and I sat in the office with nothing more to say. We still had exactly what we had had Monday at dinnertime, five detectives, counting us.