"The man you met in the park, you just talked to him?"
"We talked about the wonderful, the beautiful things in the museum. He knew about them and loved them as I did. There was no one else I could talk to about them."
"Naturally," the Prosecutor sneered. "Everyone else knows what frauds they are."
The spectators laughed.
"Then I like the frauds," Isobel said quietly.
"You claim you were in your bedroom with the door locked and asleep when Mr. d'Larte was killed. Is that right?"
"That is right."
"And even though your bedroom is right next to Mr. d'Larte's you heard nothing. Is that right?"
"Yes."
"Your husband struggled, struggled hard before he died, Mrs. d'Larte. You'll forgive me if I seem skeptical of the fact that you heard nothing."