“Tell me; what do you know about a Mr. Charles Cleaver? He was a friend of Miss Odell’s.”
“Oh, Pop’s all right.” The girl was plainly relieved by this turn in the conversation. “A good scout. He was certainly gone on Margy. Even after she threw him over for Mr. Spotswoode, he was faithful, as you might say—always running after her, sending her flowers and presents. Some men are like that. Poor old Pop! He even phoned me Monday night to call up Margy for him and try to arrange a party.—Maybe if I’d done it, she wouldn’t be dead now. . . . It’s a funny world, isn’t it?”
“Oh, no end funny.” Vance smoked calmly for a minute; I could not help admiring his self-control. “What time did Mr. Cleaver phone you Monday night—do you recall?” From his voice one would have thought the question of no importance.
“Let me see. . . .” She pursed her lips prettily. “It was just ten minutes to twelve. I remember that the little chime clock on the mantel over there was striking midnight, and at first I couldn’t hear Pop very well. You see, I always keep my clock ten minutes fast so I’ll never be late for an appointment.”
Vance compared the clock with his watch.
“Yes, it’s ten minutes fast.—And what about the party?”
“Oh, I was too busy talking about the new show, and I had to refuse. Anyway, Mr. Mannix didn’t want to have a party that night. . . . It wasn’t my fault, was it?”
“Not a bit of it,” Vance assured her. “Work comes before pleasure—especially work as important as yours. . . . And now, there is one other man I want to ask you about, and then I won’t bother you any more.—What was the situation between Miss Odell and Doctor Lindquist?”
Miss La Fosse became genuinely perturbed.
“I was afraid you were going to ask me about him.” There was apprehension in her eyes. “I don’t know just what to say. He was wildly in love with Margy; and she led him on, too. But she was sorry for it afterward, because he got jealous—like a crazy person. He used to pester the life out of her. And once—do you know!—he threatened to shoot her and then shoot himself. I told Margy to look out for him. But she didn’t seem to be afraid. Anyway, I think she was taking awful chances. . . . Oh! Do you think it could have been—do you really think——?”