‘Oh, when I went out to dinner she was coming in, and we met again on the stairs when I returned. She must have gone out again while I was having dinner. We both came in together.
‘What time was this?’
Miss Dreadon suppressed a yawn, not very successfully.
‘It was late. About three-thirty I guess. I didn’t particularly notice, but it was plenty late enough.’
‘Was she alone?’
She shook her head.
‘Oh no. She had a man with her as usual. What they can see in that dirty little…’ She broke off, frowning. ‘Oh well, I’d better not talk like that now she’s dead.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Much too good for her. The kind of man I’d go for in a big way: like Clark Gable. Not like him in looks, but his style.’
‘How was he dressed?’