Culligore’s chuckle sounded like a snort, though she knew it was meant to be good-natured. “Oh, yes, you do. I didn’t do much talking last night, but I was watching you all the time. We’d met before, you know, and I could read you like an open book. I knew you were just as long on brains as on looks. Though you answered every question, you weren’t telling anything. All the while you were holding something back. Isn’t that true?”
She hesitated, having an uncomfortable feeling that Culligore was seeing through her and that any attempt at evasion would be useless.
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“That’s a lot better, Miss Hardwick. You might begin by telling me where you were sitting when the disturbance began.”
“Why, I—I wasn’t sitting anywhere.”
“Standing up, then?”
“I wasn’t standing, either.”
“Oh, I see. You were lying down?”
“No, not even lying down.”
Culligore gave her a queer look. “If you weren’t sitting, standing, or lying, you must have hung suspended in the air. Was that it?”