"Thank you," he answered gratefully. "You have, of course, heard that there is a woman connected with Mr. Warren's death—the woman in the taxicab."
Her face grew pallid, but she nodded. "Yes. Of course."
He watched her closely—"Have you the slightest idea—the vaguest suspicion—of that woman's identity?"
"No!" she answered—and he knew that she had spoken the truth.
"You have thought of it—of her—a good deal?"
"Naturally."
"Mind you—I'm not asking if you know—I'm merely asking if you have a suspicion."
"I have not—not the faintest."
"You were quite satisfied—pardon the intense personal trend of my questions, Miss Gresham—that during his engagement to you, Mr. Warren was—well, that he was carrying on no affair with another woman?"
"I say, Carroll—" It was Garry Gresham who interrupted and his voice was harsh. But his sister halted him with a little affectionate gesture—