“You knew that?”
“Yes.”
“You knew that you couldn’t do anything for her, didn’t you?”
“I wasn’t sure.” The voice was as quiet as ever, but once more the ripple of the clenched teeth showed in the cheek. “She was afraid of the dark.”
“Of the dark?”
“Yes; she was afraid to be alone in the dark.”
“She was dead, wasn’t she?”
“Yes—yes, she was dead.”
“You ask us to believe that you spent hours in momentary danger of arrest for murder because a woman who was stone dead had been afraid of the dark when she was alive?”
“No. I don’t ask you to believe anything,” said Stephen Bellamy gently. “I was simply telling you what happened.”