“By God!” he shouted, his face going blotchy. “You can’t talk to me like that, you little bitch!”
“That’s enough!” Forest snapped. “Watch your language, Captain! I’m sure Miss Coleman didn’t mean what she said.”
McCann clenched his fists, words refusing to come. He was badly rattled. This girl had got unpleasantly near the truth, and he realized he was to blame for trying to take Maurer’s part.
“I can prove what I’m saying,” Frances went on, turning to Forest. “I can prove every word!”
“How can you do that, Miss Coleman?”
“Maurer took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his face with it,” Frances said quietly. “As he did so, he flicked out a gold pencil. It fell on his shoe, and then rolled across the floor and went down a drain in one of the shower cabinets. Maurer tried to get it up, but he couldn’t reach it. This other man said they had to go, but Maurer said the pencil had his initials on it, and he had to get it. The other man said no one would ever see it down there, and there was no way of recovering it. Maurer finally agreed to leave it.” She turned to look at McCann who was standing stiff and motionless. There was blood on Maurer’s shoe,” she went on, “and some of the blood got on to the pencil. You have only to get the pencil, prove the blood belongs to Miss Arnot, and then perhaps you’ll believe I’m telling the truth!”
Conrad looked at Forest.
“Well, is that the corroboration you want?” He swung around and grinned at McCann. “She thought that one up entirely on her own. She’s quite a detective, isn’t she, Captain?”