“No; but Miss Prall would have waited for a chance on some of these upper floors,—she never would have arranged the scene downstairs.”
“You’re right, girl,” said Letitia Prall, “though it’s uncanny for you to think that out. I’ve wondered many times why any one chose so public a place.”
“But that showed cleverness,” Wise insisted. “You see for yourself how difficult of solution it makes the mystery. It gives room for assumption that some one came in from the street.”
“There’s room for that assumption, if you like,” Zizi declared, “but what’ve you got to back it up? Nothing.”
“What have you got to back up any theory?” cried Bates. “Nothing.”
“Then let’s get something!” exclaimed Letitia, rising from her chair. “Come on with me to Mrs Everett’s and we’ll get something to back up some theory, I’ll be bound!”
Glad of the chance,—for which he had maneuvered,—to see the two inimical women together, Wise followed the others to the Everett apartment.
The meeting between the two would have been comical, but for the underlying element of tragedy that pervaded the whole situation.
“Why are you here, Letitia Prall?” was Mrs Everett’s greeting.
“To ask you why you accused me of murder,” answered Miss Prall, her manner more the Grenadier than ever. “I’m told you sit in judgment on me and I ask an explanation.”