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reaching “the right people” and Carter would be out in no time. Today he was serious and commiserative. He had heard about the denial of a retrial and about Carter’s thumbs.
    “I happened to call your wife the same day she heard herself, about the denial. She sounded pretty blue and I’d have gone over to see her, but she said she had a date with David Sullivan that night.”
    “Oh.” Carter was on guard. Gawill’s speech sounded rehearsed.
    “Sullivan’s got a lot of influence over Hazel. He’s got her thinking he’s the next thing to God.”
    Carter laughed a little. “Hazel’s no fool. I doubt if she thinks anybody’s the next thing to God.”
    “Don’t be too sure. Sullivan plays it close to his chest. He’s pretty much in control of her now, don’t you realize that?”
    Carter felt rattled and angry. His left hand moved toward his cigarettes. “No, I didn’t realize that.”
    “For one thing, Sullivan’s investigating me. Surely you’ve been told about that.”
    Carter had a twinge of guilt, but he shrugged. He had suggested to Sullivan that Gawill might be as guilty as Wallace Palmer. “Sullivan carries on his own affairs. He’s a lawyer, I’m not. And he’s not my lawyer.”
    Gawill smiled, without amusement. “You don’t get what I mean. Sullivan’s trying to ingratiate himself with Hazel, and he’s doing damned well at it, by saying he’ll come up with something against me. In regard to the Wally Palmer business, of course. Lots of luck, Mr. Sullivan, is all I can say.”
    “How do you know this?”
    “People tell me. My friends are loyal. Why shouldn’t they be? I’m not a crook. I could punch Sullivan right in the mouth. It’s bad enough that he’s playing up to your wife. How low can a man sink, playing up to another man’s wife while her husband’s stuck in prison and can’t do anything about it?”
    Don’t believe half of it, Carter told himself, even a tenth of it. “What do you mean by playing up?”
    Gawill’s dark eyes narrowed. “I think you know. Do I have to go into details? Your wife’s a very attractive woman. Very.”
    Carter remembered the evening Gawill had made a pass at Hazel, at a party at Sullivan’s house. Gawill had had several too many that evening and made a lunge at Hazel, upsetting somebody’s plate (it had been during a buffet supper), grabbing her around the waist so roughly that a snap had come open at the back of her white dress. Carter felt again the impulse he had had to pull Gawill away from her and hit him with his fist. Hazel had been furious, too, but she had given Carter a glance that said, “Don’t do anything,” so he hadn’t. Carter was bending and unbending a matchbook cover.
    “Well—why don’t you go into details? If you have any,” Carter said.
    “Sullivan’s there all the time. Do I have to be any plainer? The neighbors’re talking about it. Hasn’t any of them dropped you a hint in a letter or something?”
    The Edgertons hadn’t. He’d had two letters from them. The Edgertons lived next door. Their house was within sight of the Edgertons’ house. “Frankly no.”
    “Well—”Gawill shifted, as if the subject were too distasteful to go on with.
    Carter pressed the matchbook cover harder. “Of course, when you say all this, you’re making quite a judgment on my wife, too.”
    “Aw, no-o.” Gawill drawled the word in his New Orleans accent. “I’m making a judgment on Sullivan. I think he’s a slimy bastard and I don’t mind saying so. He’s got a nice exterior, that’s all. Well brought up, dresses well. Subtle.” He gestured. “And I say he’s working on your wife. In fact, I know it.”
    “Thanks for telling me. I happen to trust my wife.” Carter meant to smile a little, but he couldn’t.
    “Hm-hm-hm,” Gawill said in a manner that made Carter want to sock him through the glass wall. “Well—to get on to a pleasanter subject, Drexel’s going to pay you a hundred dollars a week of