“And the woman killed him?”
“I don’t know. Oh, I don’t know. No, she didn’t. He did it!”
“He did it himself?”
There was no answer to that, but a sort of sulky silence.
“Are you getting this, Clara?” Mrs. Dane asked sharply. “Don’t miss a word. Who knows what this may develop into?”
I looked at the secretary, and it was clear that she was terrified. I got up and took my chair to her. Coming back, I picked up my forgotten watch from the floor. It was still going, and the hands marked nine-thirty.
“Now,” Sperry said in a soothing tone, “you said there was a shot fired and a man was killed. Where was this? What house?”
“Two shots. One is in the ceiling of the dressing-room.”
“And the other killed him?”
But here, instead of a reply we got the words, “library paste.”