“Which leaves us very little time to solve the mystery of Meredith’s death.” Curtis sighed, then bent forward and laid his hand on McLane’s knee. “Can I depend upon your help, Leonard?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good!” Curtis’ face lighted with his charming smile. “We must work to clear Anne. She must not be dragged any further into the limelight.”
“If it only stops at the limelight!” The exclamation escaped McLane involuntarily. “I am afraid, Dave, that Coroner Penfield is holding back something more than the episode of the parrot to spring at the next hearing of the inquest.”
“It may be,” admitted Curtis. “Penfield stopped his direct examination after producing the hair which he and Inspector Mitchell found wound around the button on the jacket of Meredith’s pajamas. The hair matched Anne’s in color and texture.”
“And Penfield claimed that it was caught around the button when Anne pressed her ear over Meredith’s heart to see if it was still beating,” broke in McLane. “It was a clever deduction on his part.”
“Quite so, and one warranted by facts—as far as he knew them,” answered Curtis. “Is the hall door closed, Leonard? Are we alone?”
McLane glanced toward the door and then about the room.
“The door is shut,” he said. Rising, he walked over to it, pulled it open and glanced up and down the empty hall, then closed the door and turned the key in the lock. “We are entirely alone, Dave. Go ahead and say what you wish.”
Curtis waited until his companion had resumed his seat.