Mannix clearly was on his guard, and his beady little eyes did not once leave the District Attorney’s face.
“You had a quarrel with her perhaps?” Markham asked the question incuriously.
“Well, now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say we quarrelled. No.” Mannix paused, seeking the correct word. “You might say we disagreed—got tired of the arrangement and decided to separate; kind of drifted apart. Last thing I told her was, if she ever needed a friend she’d know where to find me.”
“Very generous of you,” murmured Markham. “And you never renewed your little affair?”
“Never—never. Don’t remember ever speaking to her from that day to this.”
“In view of certain things I’ve learned, Mr. Mannix”—Markham’s tone was regretful—“I must ask you a somewhat personal question. Did she ever make an attempt to blackmail you?”
Mannix hesitated, and his eyes seemed to grow even smaller, like those of a man thinking rapidly.
“Certainly not!” he replied, with belated emphasis. “Not at all. Nothing of the kind.” He raised both hands in protest against the thought. Then he asked furtively: “What gave you such an idea?”
“I have been told,” explained Markham, “that she had extorted money from one or two of her admirers.”
Mannix made a wholly unconvincing grimace of astonishment.