"We don't need him--for that purpose, at least," Dundee assured him.
"Downstairs in the living room, on a little table in the southeast
corner of the room, you'll find a red glass ashtray which no one but
Dexter Sprague used all evening. It was clean and empty when I saw him
use it first. I think you'll find on it all the prints you need."
"So you think Sprague killed her because she was through with him?"
Strawn asked.
Dundee shook his head. "Since I don't like Dexter Sprague a little bit,
chief, I'd like to think so, but--"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bonnie Dundee's first thought upon awakening that Sunday morning was
that it might prove to be rather a pity that his new bachelor apartment,
as he loved to call his three rooms at the top of a lodging house which
had once been a fashionable private home, faced south and west, rather
than east. At the Rhodes House, whose boarding-house clamor and lack of
privacy he had abandoned upon taking the flattering job and decent
salary of "Special Investigator attached to the District Attorney's
office," he had grown accustomed to using the hot morning sun upon his
reluctant eyelids as an alarm clock.
But--he continued the train of thought, after discovering by his watch
that it was not late; only 8:40--it was pretty darned nice having
"diggings" like these.
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