They entered the house, and Mrs. Tidings indicated chairs. “Cigarette?” she asked of Della Street, opening a humidor.
“Thank you,” Della said, taking one.
“I have one of my own,” Mason said, taking his cigarette case from his pocket.
Mrs. Tidings said, “Things are at sixes and sevens with me. I think you understand how it is. They’re having the funeral this afternoon. It was delayed while the experts were trying to uncover some clue which would point to the murderer… You don’t know what progress they’ve made, do you, Mr. Mason?”
“If they’re releasing the body this afternoon,” Mason said, “it’s certain that they’ve completed their tests.”
“Yes. I surmised as much, but I don’t know what they’ve found.”
“They haven’t told you?”
“Not a word.
“Of course,” Mrs. Tidings repeated, “I’m upset. We’d separated, but it was a shock to me… I hated him.”
Mason said, “I appreciate your position, Mrs. Tidings. By the way, I came to get the other half of that ten-thousand-dollar bill.”