"I'm sorry, Carroll," said Lawrence pleadingly. "I didn't know—"
"Of course you didn't know how much I knew—or might guess. You saw fit to insult me—"
"I've apologized."
"Your apologies come a trifle late, Lawrence. Entirely too late. Our relations from now on are those of detective and suspect—"
Again the flare of hate in Lawrence's manner: "I don't have to prove an alibi, Carroll. You have to prove my connection with the thing. And you can't do it!"
"Why not?"
"Because I was in Nashville at that time. And while perhaps I can't prove
I was there—you certainly cannot prove I was not."
"That remains to be seen. Meanwhile, I'd advise you to establish that fact if you can possibly do so. And by the way: are you in the habit of indulging in these solitary debauches in neighboring cities?"
Lawrence flushed. "Sometimes. I used to be a heavy drinker, and—"
"Is that a fact, Mrs. Lawrence?"