In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Will you answer me a question first?” “If I can,” Ennison said. She had just managed to reach it, grabbing for the handle, when the enemy’s cracked command halted her. “Yeah,” Shari nodded enthusiastically. ” Annabel laughed gaily. ” “The inference is, then,” the detective said smoothly, “that this man obtained admission to your rooms by means of a false key, that he burnt some papers here and shot himself within a few moments of your return. You were accused of having been seen with the latter. I wanted the magic of love.
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