“Yes,” Mason said. “With the use of modem photography and ultra-violet and infra-red light, they can photograph writing on charred paper with the greatest accuracy. I thought Overmeyer was acting a little too dumb at the inquest. He had so much against you that he didn’t want to tip his hand in advance. He’s perfectly willing to let the coroner’s verdict be indefinite. He wants you to think he hasn’t very much evidence, and then get you lying. Did you make any statements?”
“No,” she said, “I remembered what you’d told me and didn’t say anything.”
“Did you make any denials?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “They accused me of killing Walter, and I denied I’d done that.”
Mason frowned and said irritably, “I told you not to say anything.”
“Well, I thought I should deny that.”
“Did you,” he asked, “go one step farther and deny knowing that he was dead?”
“No. I simply sat tight after that one denial.”
“Did they ask you when you’d seen him last?”
“Yes,” she said, “they did, and I told them I hadn’t seen him for a week. That was right, because I hadn’t. It really doesn’t count seeing a man after he’s dead, and—”