What on earth was in Mae's mind, that she wanted him up there spying on what the cops were doing? What did she think he could do?

He tried to ignore what his own common sense told him, but it wasn't possible; her motives were too blatant. She wanted him to get into trouble. She wanted the police to notice him, suspect him. She was going to keep on scheming, poking, prodding, suggesting, and dictating until the cops got up enough interest in him to go back to their old neighborhood and ask questions. And he knew in that moment, with a cold sinking of despair, a dying of old hopes, that Mae had spread some kind of word there among the neighbors. Nothing bald, open; but enough. They'd have some suspicions to repeat to the police.

Though his inner thoughts cringed at it, he forced himself to think back, recreating the scene in which Mae claimed to have caught him molesting the child.

It hadn't amounted to anything. There had been nothing evil or dirty in his intentions.

A second scene flashed before his mind, the interior of the garage at the new house and the young Bartlett girl turning startled to meet him, the dim dark and the sudden confusion and fear and then the brightness as Mae had clicked on the light.

Suppose the cops somehow got hold of that?

Well, it hadn't been what it seemed, he'd had no idea the girl was in there. He hadn't touched her.

And when he came to examine the scene, there was a certain staginess to it, it had the smell of planning, and a swift suspicion darted into his mind.