That one rocked me, I admit. "But that's all wrong!" I finally burst out. "I admit I went through a bad time after Marianna died, but—"
She was smiling, though still angry. "Are you apologizing to me?"
"No, but—" I stopped. That was a matter to be taken up with Defoe, I told myself, and I was beginning to feel a little angry, too.
"All right," I said. "There's been a mistake; I'll see that it's straightened out. But even if it was true, did you think I was the kind of man to join a bunch of murderers?"
"We are not murderers!"
"Hammond's body says different."
"We had nothing to do with that, Tom!"
"Your friend Slovetski did." It was a shot in the dark. It missed by a mile.
She said loftily: "If he is such a killer, how did you escape? When I had my interview with you, and it became apparent that the expediters were less than accurate, the information came a little late. You could easily have given us trouble—Slovetski was in the next room. Why didn't he shoot you dead?"
"Maybe he didn't want to be bothered with my body."