“About ten o’clock. We’d had such a perfect evening until Henri came. Margo was bubbling over about you, and Evalyn was so happy — I suppose because she thought Henri would be coming back to her. It was like things used to be — before Henri and Margo met.”
“Who,” asked Shayne, “is Henri?”
“Henri Desmond. Why—” A thoughtful light came into her eyes and she drew her breath in sharply. “Don’t the police know about him?”
“Not that I’ve heard, but I’d be delighted to get hold of another suspect,” Shayne said.
“Henri could have done it,” she said doubtfully.
“Where does this Henri live?”
“Why, I don’t know, but I’m sure Evalyn does. I’ll call her.” She started to get up.
Shayne stopped her. “Wait,” he said. “Let’s get this straight first. You say Henri came to Margo’s apartment? What time was that?”
“Just a few minutes before ten. I remember because the phone had rung about nine forty-five. Margo talked to someone — you, I guess, and told us she had a date at ten-fifteen and we’d have to leave.” She laughed, her eyes bright with remembering, and said, “I scolded Margo about having an assignation with a redheaded stranger at that hour. Though I was glad for her,” she went on earnestly. “I’ve often told her that she needed to have an affair. A real one — and decent, of course. I honestly believe she was a virgin,” she ended pensively.
“Let’s get back to tonight,” Shayne said firmly. “Margo received a phone call at nine forty-five, you say? She didn’t tell you from whom, but intimated some man was coming in thirty minutes. Is that straight?”