“Into all of them—yes.”
“Did you see Mr. Patrick Ives in any of them?”
“No, monsieur.”
Sue Ives leaned forward with a swift gesture, a sudden wave of colour sweeping her from throat to brow. Mr. Lambert looked diligently away.
“You have placed great stress on your skill, experience, and training as a waitress, Miss Cordier. Are you a waitress at present?”
“No.”
“Just what is your present occupation?”
“At present I have no occupation. I rest.”
“In the boarding house in Atlantic City where you have been occupied in resting for the past three or four months, you are not reposing under the name of Melanie Cordier, are you?”
The black eyes darted toward the prosecutor, who stood leaning, shrewd and careless, over the back of a tilted chair. “Is it particularly germane to this inquiry whether Miss Cordier chooses to call herself Joan of Arc, if she wants to?” he inquired.