“Murdered her.”
Dolly drew herself up erect in the chair, showing both surprise and indignation. “Mrs. Cool, what do you mean?”
Bertha said, “Skip it. If you did murder her, you’d put on an act like that, anyway, and you didn’t, there’s no use swapping words. Were you relieved when you learned she was dead?”
Dolly Cornish met Bertha Cool’s searching gaze frankly. “Yes.”
Bertha turned away to watch the smoke eddying up from the cigarette which she held in her fingers. “In some ways I wish I hadn’t heard this story.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got to go to Sergeant Sellers, and I hate going to that man right now.”
“Why?”
Bertha somewhat wearily got to her feet. “As a mining proposition, he’d run about twenty dollars to the ton, but every once in a while, when things start going his way, he thinks he’s what you call jewellery-rock.”
Bertha started for the door.