LIEUTENANT DELANCEY of the Chicago police came in an hour later. He refused my offer of a drink, and a smoke, and then because I didn’t wave him to a chair he crossed my living room briskly and eased himself into my favorite chair. I think I could have won the waiting game but the prize wasn’t good enough to interest me in playing. So I said, “O.K., lieutenant, what am I supposed to be guilty of?”
His smile was veiled. “You’re not guilty of anything, so far as I know.”
“You’re not here to pass the time of day.”
“No, I’m not. I want information.”
“What kind of information?”
“One hears things,” he said vaguely.
“Lieutenant,” I said, “you’ve been watching one of those halluscene whodunit dramas where everybody stands around making witty sayings composed of disconnected phrases. You’ll n
