Penfield regarded her attentively. “Mr. Hollister also stated that as you were leaving, after signing the document, Mr. Meredith called you back. Please tell the jury what he said to you.”
“It was a personal conversation,” she commenced heatedly. “It had nothing to do—”
“We are the best judge of that,” broke in Penfield. “According to the evidence thus far adduced this afternoon, you are the last person known to have seen your cousin alive.” Lucille changed color. “Therefore, the conversation you had with him then, however trivial it may appear, may have some bearing on the tragedy and may aid the police in solving the mystery surrounding his death.”
“I assure you,” Lucille spoke so low that Curtis again edged nearer so as not to miss what she said, “we talked only of my cousin Anne and her prospective marriage. I am very outspoken.” Lucille’s beautiful eyes flashed spiritedly and her color rose. “I told Cousin John I thought that it was abominable of him—to”—she stammered and stopped, then added weakly—“to make a cat’s-paw of Anne to further his plans.”
“And what were his plans?” asked Penfield swiftly.
“I—it was a figure of speech.” Lucille’s high color faded, leaving her deadly white. “I was indignant and did not choose my words.”
Penfield studied her in silence. “Then we are to understand that you knew nothing of Mr. Meredith’s so-called ‘plans’?” he asked dryly.
“Yes.”
Penfield stroked his chin thoughtfully. “What answer did Mr. Meredith make to you?” he inquired a minute later.
Again Lucille flushed. “He told me to hold my tongue,” she replied. At the bitterness in her voice Curtis’ lips twitched. “And then I went to bed.”