Carroll fidgeted nervously. "I must warn you to be careful in what you say to me, my friend. I am the detective in charge of this case, and—"
"There is no use in concealment, Mr. Carroll. I have been driven almost crazy since that night. I have almost reached the end of my rope. It was the scandal I have been fighting to avoid—not so much for my own sake as for Evelyn and my husband. Publicity—of this kind—would be very—very—awkward—for both of them."
"I'm sorry—" Carroll hesitated. "If you don't care to talk to me—"
She shrugged slightly. "It makes no difference—now. I'd rather talk to you than someone who might understand less readily—or more harshly."
"I may question you?"
"Yes."
"I regret it—and rest assured that I am trying to find—a way out—for you."
"There is no way out—from the scandal. But that is my own fault—"
Somewhere down the block an auto horn shrieked: in another room of the house an old grandfather's clock chimed sonorously.
"You admit that you were the woman in the taxicab?"