“Then there wouldn’t have been any case, and we wouldn’t be here. Go on, Wiseacre.”
“Well, the two women at feud,—I told you of them,—are great! Miss Prall, spinster, and aggressively unmarried, loathes and despises Mrs Everett, a fascinating widow.”
“Fascinating to whom.”
“Dunno. Except to herself. But she’s the dressy sort and is a blonde cat, while the Prall person is—well, I understand they call her the Grenadier.”
“Who calls her that?”
“Dunno. It’s in the air.”
“How about these two women being the women meant on the paper message?”
“No. I thought of that, but I can’t see yet how they could have joined forces, even though they both wanted the old chap out of the way. Nor can I connect them with the case separately,—as yet. But it seems to me that one faction or the other must be at fault, for there are no other women on the horizon.”
“Chorus girls? Elevator girls?”
“I can’t see it. To be sure, I’ve only dipped into things so far, but the crime is so skillfully planned and carried out——”