Mason said, “I was to meet someone here. Suppose you tell me who you are?”
“I’m Opal Sunley — the one who called the police yesterday morning.”
“Whom were you going to meet here?”
“Mrs. Perlin.”
“So was I,” Mason said. “Suppose we wait together? I think perhaps she wanted to see us both together. She told me she was going to make a confession.”
“She won’t make it now,” the girl said.
“Why not?”
Mason could feel her trembling. It was more than mere nervousness. It was trembling of one who’s in the grip of a fear which threatens momentarily to become blind panic.
“Go on,” Mason said. “Where is she?”
The girl’s fingers were digging into his arm. “She’s — she’s in the bedroom. She’s dead.”