“You suspected that she was dead?”
“I knew that she was dead. Her eyes were wide open.”
“You did not go nearer to her than those three or four feet?”
“No.” She forced the word through her lips with a dreadful effort.
“You did not touch her?”
“No—no.”
“Then how did the bloodstains get on your coat?”
At the sharp clang of that triumphant cry she shuddered and turned and came back to him slowly from the small, haunted room. “Bloodstains? There were no bloodstains on my coat.”
“Do you still claim that the coat that you smuggled out of your house Sunday morning was stained with grease from Mr. Bellamy’s car?”
“No—no, I don’t claim that.”