"What do you think she went for, Mrs. Watson?"
"To meet her lover. Shortly before he was killed Mr. d'Larte confessed to me that he was of the same opinion."
"See, I told you she had a lover," someone whispered. "Old husband, young wife. I just knew there was a lover."
"Objection," said the Defense. "There is no proof that Mrs. d'Larte went to the museum to meet a lover. There are only opinions, guesses."
"If your honor will permit me to call my next witness I think I can prove that there was a lover," the Prosecutor said.
The judge leaned forward in eager anticipation. "Call your witness."
"Bella Whychek."
A fat, dumpy, flame-haired woman made her way to the witness stand. As she was sworn in she tugged self-consciously at her too tight girdle.
"Miss Whychek—"
"Mrs. ... I'm a widow."