‘Never mind that,’ said Inspector Kelley.
‘Did you find her, Weeds?’ asked Professor Fordney.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘She’s a good-looking mulatto,’ remarked Kelley, looking at the maid lying on the floor at the side of the bed. Her right hand outstretched, the wrist deeply cut, rested in a pool of blood on the polished floor. ‘Must have slipped off the bed.’
‘I don’t think so. The spread hasn’t a wrinkle in it,’ said Fordney, noting the immaculate coverlet of pink lace, the edge caught under the girl’s body.
‘She was almost gone when I found her,’ offered Weeds, ‘and she died before I could get a doctor.’
‘Is this yours, Jones?’ inquired Fordney, picking up a sharp knife hidden by the girl’s dress.
‘Yes. She wanted it to cut the stems of the flowers I had brought up.’
‘I didn’t see that knife when I tried to help her,’ said Weeds.
‘Course you didn’t! You put it there!’ shouted Jones angrily.