“Now then,” Mason asked, “when did you first know your husband had been murdered?”
Her eyes grew wide and round. “Walter?” she said. “Murdered?”
Mason, watching her narrowly, said, “Yes. Murdered.”
“Watch out, Rosalind,” Driscoll warned. “It’s some sort of a trap. He hasn’t been murdered, or we’d have heard of it.”
Mason turned to stare at Rita Swaine. “You knew it, Rita,” he charged.
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, unless it’s some sort of a stall to get a big fee out of Rossy.”
“Is that the truth?” Rosalind Prescott demanded. Has he been murdered, or is this some sort of a trap?”
Mason continued to regard Rita Swaine with thoughtful eyes. “How did you come here?” he asked. “By regular plane or chartered plane?”
“I chartered a plane and came directly here.”
“How soon after you left my office?”