“Did she pack a bag?”
“Just a little overnight bag, some creams and things. She changed her dress, and we left at once by the side entrance.”
“Was there any conversation about what Mrs. Anderson might have seen?”
“There was. Mrs. Prescott felt certain Stella Anderson had been spying on us; that she’d seen what had taken place.”
Stella Anderson jumped to her feet and exclaimed indignantly, “I wasn’t spying! I never spy. I mind my own business and—”
The coroner’s gavel banged into silence. “You’ll have to be seated and keep quiet, Mrs. Anderson,” he said, “or else leave the room.”
Jimmy Driscoll seemed to pay no attention whatever to the interruption. With the air of a man who has an unpleasant duty to perform, but is determined to discharge it faithfully, he said, “Before our departure, we had some discussion about what we could do to prevent Mrs. Anderson from telling Walter Prescott what she had seen. Rosalind conceived the idea of having her sister come over, dress up in the same dress Mrs. Prescott had been wearing, and appear at the window where Mrs. Anderson could get a good look at her face. We telephoned Miss Swaine from the airport. I listened to Rosalind Prescott’s conversation, and heard the instructions she gave Miss Swaine.”
“Then what did you do?”
“Then we flew to Reno.”
“Did you know Walter Prescott was dead at that time?”