Anita sat rigid for a moment, a prey to rage and fright. Finally she jumped to her feet, ran through the curtains and along the wing hall and pounded on Allen’s door, careless of whether anyone saw her there or not.
Landis found Bernard pacing the library, puffing at his pipe in a brown study and an atmosphere of fine content. He looked up as Landis appeared.
“Get Anita’s finger-prints?” he inquired mildly.
“I did,” snapped Landis. “Did you get the others?”
“I did. Any luck with Anita? I judge not!”
“Not a bit. She swears that she was in Allen’s room when Susan screamed. She’s such a liar that it hardly seemed worth while to question her about last night. I couldn’t shake her story. Maybe she’s telling the truth. In that case, who the hell did run along the hall?”
“You can search me. Isabelle perhaps.”
“Shall we question her?”
Bernard shook his head.
“Not just now, I think. It’s almost lunch time. Let’s go up and see Graham again.”