ear."

"Not married, I understand."

"That's right." A slow frown was forming on Cordell's face.

"How old was your wife?" Kirk asked.

The frown deepened but the young man answered promptly enough. "Juanita
was my age. Twenty-nine."

Martin Kirk eyed his cigar casually. "Why," he said, "did you want her
to walk out on her job; to give up her career?"

Cordell stiffened. "Who says I did?" he snapped.

"Are you denying it?"

"You're damn well right I'm denying it! What _is_ this?"

* * * * *

Kirk was slowly shaking his head almost pityingly. "On at least two
occasions friends of you and your wife have heard you say you wished
she'd stay home where she belonged and cut out this 'playing around with
a mess of test tubes.' Those are your own words, Cordell."

"Every guy," the young man retorted, "who's got a working wife says
something like that now and then. It's only natural."

Kirk's jaw hardened. "But every guy's wife doesn't get murdered."

The other looked at him unbelievingly. "Good God," he burst out, "are
you saying I killed Juanita because I wanted her to stop working? Of all
the--"

"There's, more!" snapped the Homicide man. "When you passed Professor
Gilmore's secretary in his outer office yesterday, what did you say to
her?"

"'Say to her?'" the prisoner echoed in a dazed way. "I don't know that I
... Some kidding remark, I guess. How do you expect me to remember a
thing like that?"

"I'll tell you what you said," Kirk said coldly. "It goes like this:
'Hi, Alma. You think the Prof's through making love to my wife?'"

Cordell's head snapped back and his jaw dropped in utter amazement.
"_What!_ Of all--! You _nuts_? I never said anything like that in my
_life_! Who says I said that?"

Without haste Kirk slid a hand into the inner pocket of his coat and
brought out two folded sheets of paper which he opened and spread out on
his knee.

"Listen to this, friend," he said softly. "'My name is Miss Alma Dakin.
I reside at 1142 Monroe Street, and am employed as secretary to
Professor Gregory Gilmore. At approximately 5:50 on the afternoon of
October 19, Paul Cordell, husband of Mrs. Juanita Cordell, laboratory
assistant to Professor Gilmore, passed my desk on his way into the
laboratory. I made no effort to stop him, since my employer had
previously instructed me to allow Mr. Cordell to go directly to the
laboratory at any time without being announced.'" Kirk loo