"Miss Wallace," Dykeman demanded harshly. "Who is this—lady?"
"Mrs. Bowman," Barbara looked her employer very straight in the eye.
"Heh?" he barked. "Any relation to Dr. Bowman—any connection with him?"
"His wife." Cummings bent and mumbled to the older man for a moment.
"Laura," Barbara said gently, "this is Mr. Dykeman. You're to tell him and Mr. Cummings."
"Yes," breathed Mrs. Bowman. "I'll tell them. I'm ready to tell anybody. There's nothing in dodging, and hiding, and being afraid. I'm done with it. Now—what is it you want to know?"
Cummings' expression said plainer than words that they didn't want to know anything. They had their case fixed up and their man arrested, and they didn't wish to be disturbed. She went on quickly, of herself,
"I believe I was the last person who saw Mr. Gilbert alive. I must have been. I'd rushed over there, just as Ina told you, Mr. Boyne, between the reception and our getting off for San Francisco."
"All this concerns the early part of the evening," put in Cummings.
"Yes—but it concerns Worth, too. He was there when I came in.... It was very painful."