"Winnie never said 'psychic' in his life, poor lamb," she observed. "He didn't know what it meant. No, I don't know what your game is but I'm on to you and we're going to be real buddies from now on or—"
"Or what?"
"The police," she observed quietly, "take a dim view of murder in this state. Now I'm willing to be broad-minded. Winnie was a louse who had it coming to him, I guess. I was playing him for a quick divorce and marriage. Three million dollars is a lot of money, even in these days, and it would have been nice to have been married to it. But it's even nicer this way, I guess."
The decanter was within reach. I poured myself another drink. "Have some?" I asked.
"And why not? What's yours is mine, and we both need it."
"Why did you say it was nicer this way, Mrs. Rutherford?" I inquired.
"Virginia to you, Winnie. It's because now I don't have to marry you and I still have a pipe-line to the Tompkins millions."
"So you are going in for blackmail," I observed. "Suppose I threatened to divorce Jimmie and marry you. After all, I still could."
"A girl has her pride," she murmured. "Not that I'd mind having fun with you, Winnie—as I think I'd better call you. But a wife can't give testimony against her husband and I think I'd rather like to be able to give testimony if needed. Besides, a husband has too many opportunities to help the undertaker. There are accidents in bath-tubs and garages, medicines get mixed up in the bathroom cabinet and there is always the old-fashioned hatchet. No, since you've managed to get rid of the other Winnie, somehow, I think I'll keep a safe distance and my silence, as long as you make it worth my while."
"Suppose I won't play?" I suggested.