“You didn’t! No—no!” She caught her breath, and wagged her head jerkily. “You’re mistaken, son. I didn’t scream this morning.”
“Well, some one did.” There was a cold relentlessness in the man’s tone. Then, after a pause, he added: “The fact is, I came up-stairs after I heard the scream, and listened at the door here. But you were walking about humming ‘Eia Popeia,’ so I went back to my work.”
Mrs. Drukker pressed a handkerchief to her face, and her eyes closed momentarily.
“You were at your work between eleven and twelve?” Her voice now rang with subdued eagerness. “But I called you several times——”
“I heard you. But I didn’t answer. I was too busy.”
“So that was it.” She turned slowly toward the window. “I thought you were out. Didn’t you tell me——?”
“I told you I was going to the Dillards’. But Sigurd wasn’t there, and I came back a little before eleven.”
“I didn’t see you come in.” The woman’s energy was spent, and she lay back listlessly, her eyes on the brick wall opposite. “And when I called and you didn’t answer I naturally thought you were still out.”
“I left the Dillards’ by the street gate, and took a walk in the park.” Drukker’s voice was irritable. “Then I let myself in by the front door.”
“And you say you heard me scream. . . . But why should I scream, son? I’ve had no pains in my back this morning.”