"I don't know. Sis was out a couple of times that day—so I guess she did."
Carroll shrugged. "She was probably sending some of Mr. Lawrence's belongings to him in Nashville."
"Huh! There're some things even a great detective like you don't know. Don't you suppose I noticed that the clothes she was packing in that suit-case were hers?"
"Really?"
"You bet your life, I noticed. You see," she grew suddenly confidential. "There's a certain kind of perfume Sis uses—awful expensive. Roland Warren used to bring it to her. Well, I've been using it too—and Sis never did get wise. I only used it when she did—and when she smelled it, she didn't know that she was smelling what I had on. Well, it isn't likely she was sending that to Gerald, is it?"
"Hardly. But are you sure she packed it?"
"I'll say I am. I saw her do it. And then two days later I saw the bottle on her dressing table again—and so I just naturally looked to see if the suit-case was back and it surely was."
"But perhaps it never left the house?"
"Guess again, Mr. Carroll. I know—because just before I went to Hazel's I hunted all over for it, to get some of that extract myself. And the suit-case wasn't there. Believe me—it's some perfume, too!"
"You say Mr. Warren gave it to her?"