“Women are clever actresses,” retorted Trenholm. “Well, Miss Ward, who may or who may not have known Paul before, is the last person known to have been with him on the night he was murdered—the last person to have seen him alive!”
“Hold on,” the interruption came from Alan. He was not looking at Betty, but kept his eyes steadfastly lowered, the cigar still in his hand. “Miss Ward claims that Paul had visitors—”
“And Miss Ward’s statements as to their presence have not been substantiated”—Trenholm paused and Betty could not avoid his stare—“as yet.”
In the lengthening silence Betty’s rapid breathing was faintly audible. She finished her coffee and her hand was quite steady as she set the cup and saucer down on a stool by her side.
“And your theory is—what?” she asked, raising her eyes to Trenholm’s.
“That Miss Ward killed Paul while he slept,” replied the sheriff.
Alan drew out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “It’s a rotten theory!” he exploded. “Why, Trenholm, I thought you liked Miss Ward?”
Betty shot a swift glance at Trenholm and her figure grew rigid.
“It is not a matter of like or dislike,” replied Trenholm quietly. “It’s a question of finding Paul’s murderer. You asked me for a theory—and mine is a reasonable hypothesis.”
“Just a moment,” broke in Roberts. “Paul was no slight weight. I doubt if Miss Ward could have lifted him in and out of bed unassisted, especially putting him back in bed—a dead body is an unwieldy object.”