*

Miss Schmitt was prepared to reminisce indefinitely. Kessler decided
he had better come to the point. "I don't suppose, Miss Schmitt," he
asked, "that you and Mr. Spencer ever discussed politics?"

She shrugged. "Why, yes, I guess we did a little, being among
politicians in court and all. We were both good solid Republicans
though, so we didn't have much to say back in those days. I voted for
Roosevelt in 1940 but Bob didn't mind."

"This may sound farfetched, Miss Schmitt, but to your knowledge was
Mr. Spencer ever interested in Communism?"

"Bob?" she asked incredulously. "Bob interested in Communism? We
didn't even know what Communism was out there. Never! You can count
that out, mister."

"I'm sure we can," Kessler said. "Did he drink?"

"Not a drop! I wouldn't have put up with that myself."

"Would you ever have thought he was suicidally inclined?"

She thought about this one. "You mean he might have put a bomb on the
plane? Like that fellow did a few years ago?" She shook her head
slowly. "I can't believe Bob would kill anybody else just to kill
himself. What would be the point?"

"Exactly. He left no one behind him. Didn't even take out an insurance
policy. But, of course, people sometimes do crazy things."

Miss Schmitt's plump little face was silent and reflective. "Bob was
an odd one. And, of course, I haven't seen him for years but I got a
Christmas card and a little note every single year and he always
seemed perfectly sane to me. As for killing himself or anybody else,
I'd say he was much too timid a man for that. God forgive me if I'm
being cruel to an old friend who's gone now, but he was afraid to step
outside the house. I don't know how he got to work. He was always
getting sick or getting hurt and staying home for weeks. I think he
welcomed sickness just so he could hide at home safe." There were
tears of another sort in Miss Schmitt's eyes now. Kessler thought he
detected a brightness in his wife's eyes. "No," Miss Schmitt said,
"Bob was afraid of life. Just plumb scared." She refused to let the
tears flow. "Oh, but I'm being a terrible hostess! I have so few
visitors now. How about some more lemonade?"

Margaret flicked a glance at her husband and gave him the floor.
"You've been a wonderful hostess," Kessler said, rising, "and I want
to thank you for being good enough to talk to us."

"Well, I'm afraid I haven't been much help," she said, rising to
flutter over the glasses.

"Tha