“And then what?”
“I was waiting to have a talk with Rossy after Jimmy had gone to bed and I could talk with her alone. I told her I’d arranged for you to be her lawyer, and I’d told her about Mrs. Snoops. I didn’t tell her about Walter, or ask her about the murder. I knew Rossy wouldn’t have done it. Jimmy did it, and Rossy’s backing him up. I wanted to ask her about it when Jimmy wasn’t there to make her lie.”
“Where’s your pearl-gray outfit now?” Mason asked.
“The police took it. They made me change to other clothes.”
“How about the shoes you were wearing?”
“They have them.”
“Did you look them over for bloodstains?”
“No, I didn’t — good heavens, Mr. Mason, you don’t think I—”
“I think,” he told her, “that you very probably had bloodstains on your shoes. You may have had some on your undergarments. I think that you left your finger-prints on the wallet in Walter Prescott’s pocket, and if you didn’t break up the ashes in the fireplace, I think they’ll find enough of the letter to photograph.”
“Do you mean to say they can photograph a letter after it’s been burnt?”