"And yet—" Carroll was merciless "—you have no substantiation for your statements." He switched his line of attack suddenly: "What made you think I was coming here to discuss Roland Warren's death?"
It was plain that Lawrence did not want to answer—yet there was something in Carroll's mesmeric eyes which wrung words unwillingly from his lips—
"Just logic," he answered weakly. "I knew that you weren't calling to see Evelyn because you were interested in her. You knew Warren had been pretty friendly in this house—so you came to talk to us about it. Isn't that reasonable?"
"I don't believe I am here to answer questions, Mr. Lawrence. You invited me to ask them."
Naomi broke in, her voice choked with hysteria—"What are you leading to,
Mr. Carroll? It is absurd to think that Gerald had anything to do with
Mr. Warren's death."
Carroll swung on her, biting off his words shortly: "Do you know that he didn't?"
"Yes—I—"
"I didn't ask what you thought, Mrs. Lawrence. I am asking what you know!"
"But if he was in Nashville—"
"If he was, then he's safe. But he himself cannot prove that he was. And I tell you frankly that the police will investigate his movements very carefully. It strikes me as exceedingly peculiar that he checked out from the Hermitage Hotel at four o'clock in the afternoon when he intended taking a two a.m. train. Remember, I am accusing your husband of nothing. Our conversation could have been pleasant—he refused to allow it to be so. He classified me as a professional detective and put me on that basis in his home. I have merely accepted his invitation to act as one. If I appear discourteous, kindly recall that it was none of my doing."