She lived in a big two-story house with her parents and a bachelor brother, Fred, several years older than herself. Fred met me at the door, led me into the front room where Gale sat on a couch. He sat beside her and she looked up at me, eves puffy from crying.
She spoke dully, but she answered my questions. “There were so many things in the book. Shell. A lot of names and case histories, stories about Communists getting into places where they could hire others, things like that.”
. “Can’t you think of any specific thing that might explain—” She winced. “No. It was all jumbled, Shell. I never typed more than a few consecutive pages at a time. Maybe from the middle or the end or front, I don’t know. It’s all mixed up.”
“Remember anything about a man named Lewis Tollman?”
“The name sound
