“Why did you tell us you were in your room from six-thirty on? Why did you lie in the first place?”
Anita made a gesture of hopeless impatience.
“Because I didn’t want to tell you where I was!” she cried.
“It’s unfortunate,” said Bernard judicially, “that all this will have to come out, including the fact that you were in Allen’s bedroom when he was half naked in the bathroom adjoining—and the door was open between!”
Anita winced and shrank in her chair, looking at Allen. He nodded to her.
“May as well tell ’em everything, ’Nita,” he said. “Fact is, Mr. Bernard, we’re married—”
At the last word Anita uttered a shriek of protest. Bernard and Landis looked at her swiftly enough to catch the flash of terror in her eyes. But she pulled herself together with an effort, looked down and said nothing.
“Can you prove that?” Bernard asked Allen gruffly.
For answer he left the room, returning with a marriage certificate which he showed them. It contained his name and Anita’s and was signed by a minister in Frederick, Maryland.
“We slipped down there together one week-end, when ’Nita was supposed to be visiting friends in Westchester,” Allen explained. “It’s all in order.”