A warning glance from my chief stopped the retort that was on my lips. I was longing to tell the accuser that she had been under suspicion herself, but I saw that in Tarleton’s opinion I was taking the wrong line. My indignation on Violet Bredwardine’s behalf had betrayed me into showing our cards too soon.
The girl herself seemed to feel that some explanation was needed for her confident assertions.
“If you want to know who was wearing that disguise, ask Madame Bonnell. She is the manager of the Club, and she can tell you everything that went on there.”
A swift movement of the physician’s eyebrows told me that this was the sort of admission he had been watching for. He intervened, I had little doubt, to prevent my drawing attention to it.
“I think Miss Neobard ought to be told that the wearer of the Zenobia costume was not the only one whose movements attracted attention on that night.”
I was eager to take the cue. It was time to give Lady Violet’s enemy a taste of her own medicine.
“Yes,” I said sternly, “the dancer who was seen oftenest in company with Dr. Weathered that night wore the costume of Salome. Can you tell us anything about her?”
For an instant Salome blanched. She was quite intelligent enough to see the red light. She didn’t need to be told that if her movements had attracted the notice of the police her identity could hardly fail to come out before very long, if it hadn’t come out already. Yet she struggled against what was coming.
“She had nothing to do with the crime. She was a friend of Dr. Weathered’s. Her only motive for being there was to protect him from the other women.” She spoke almost in a whisper.
“To protect him from being poisoned, do you mean? Or do you mean that she was jealous, and wanted to prevent him from dancing with anyone but herself?”