Vance’s manner appeared to alleviate her terror somewhat, and she studied him calculatingly.
“If only I could help you!” she muttered. “But there’s nothing to be done—nothing. . . .”
“You might tell us what you saw from your window on the day of Mr. Robin’s death,” Vance suggested kindly.
“No—no!” Her eyes stared horribly. “I saw nothing—I wasn’t near the window that morning. You may kill me, but my dying words would be No—no—no!”
Vance did not press the point.
“Beedle tells us,” he went on, “that you often rise early and walk in the garden.”
“Oh, yes.” The words came with a sigh of relief. “I don’t sleep well in the mornings. I often wake up with dull boring pains in my spine, and the muscles of my back feel rigid and sore. So I get up and walk in the yard whenever the weather is mild enough.”
“Beedle saw you in the garden yesterday morning.”
The woman nodded absently.
“And she also saw Professor Dillard with you.”