Cleaver’s eyes narrowed, but otherwise he was like a graven image.
“You evidently know more about it than I do.” He managed to make his words sound casual.
“Not more, Mr. Cleaver,” Markham corrected him, “but nearly as much.—Where were you between eleven o’clock and midnight Monday?”
“Perhaps that’s one of the things you know.”
“You’re right.—You were in Miss Odell’s apartment.”
Cleaver sneered, but he did not succeed in disguising the shock that Markham’s accusation caused him.
“If that’s what you think, then it happens you don’t know, after all. I haven’t put foot in her apartment for two weeks.”
“I have the testimony of reliable witnesses to the contrary.”
“Witnesses!” The word seemed to force itself from Cleaver’s compressed lips.
Markham nodded. “You were seen coming out of Miss Odell’s apartment and leaving the house by the side door at five minutes to twelve on Monday night.”