“But yes!” André stared. “It is as though she would see behind of her. Has she, then, tell to you something of value to your search?”
“She’d have to see more than just behind her to do that, André!”
They left him still muttering and passed through the pantries and down the hall toward the front, but McCarty drew Dennis hastily back as the doorbell sounded vociferously.
“That’ll be the ambulance to take the body to the morgue for the autopsy,” he whispered. “The medical examiner’s assistant must have ’phoned for it before he left, that it’s here so quick. We’ll just be laying low till it’s gone.”
“And we’ve no chance for another look at the corpse!” Dennis mourned.
“What for? ’Twould help us none and ’tis not from what’s already happened we’ll find out the truth, but from what’s maybe coming! It’s as well to have the poor thing’s body out of the way.”
In silence, then, they listened to the heavy tramp of feet, but when the front door had closed once more McCarty beckoned to his companion and started for the conservatory. Its door stood wide, the windows had been flung open again and a slight breeze which had sprung up stirred and rustled the leaves of the palms, but nowhere did there remain any sign of the tragedy so recently enacted.
Walking over to the organ McCarty scrutinized it critically and then seating himself on the stool before it with his back to the instrument and hands outspread on his knees, he regarded the marble bench on which Lucette had met her death while Dennis shifted from foot to foot watching him. All at once, with a grunt, he doubled forward and appeared to be peering at the space beneath the bench.
“Nothing’s under there.” Dennis’ eyes had followed the direction of his gaze. “The floor’s bare and clean as the palm of your hand. What more is there here for us to see?”
“Not a thing, now,” McCarty replied. Nevertheless he crossed to the windows and examined the sills before leading the way from the room.