“Did you notice anything else?”
“Yes; I noticed that there was blood.” He glanced about him swiftly, as though he were startled by the sound of the word, and lowered his voice. “A great deal of blood.”
“On the dress?”
“Principally on the dress. I believe that there was also a little on the carpet, though I could not be sure of that. But principally it was on the dress.”
“Can you tell us about the dress?”
Again Mr. Conroy’s haunted eyes went wandering. “The dress? It was soaked in blood, sir—I think I may say that it was soaked in blood.”
“No, no—I mean what kind of a dress was it? An evening dress?”
“Well, I hardly know. I suppose you might call it that. Not a ball gown, you understand—just a thin lacy dress, with the neck cut out a little and short sleeves. I remember that quite well—the lady’s arms were bare.”
The prosecutor, who had been carelessly fingering some papers and pamphlets on the top of a small square box, brushed them impatiently aside and scooped something else out of its depths.
“Was this the dress, Mr. Conroy?”