Looking even more disgusted, Cramer asked her, “What isn’t true?”
“That he was following me!” Helen was mad clear to her temples and pretty as a picture. “Why should he follow me? He came here to—”
She bit it off sharp.
“Yeah,” Cramer said encouragingly. “To what?”
“I don’t know! But I do know who killed Mr. Poor! It was Martha Davis!”
“That helps. Who is Martha Davis?”
Joe Groll said, giving information again, “She means Mrs. Poor. That was her name when she worked in the factory, before she got married. She means Mrs. Poor killed her husband. That’s on account of jealousy. She’s crazy.”
A quiet but energetic voice came from a new direction. “She certainly is.”
It was Martha, who emerged from a door at the far end and approached the table. She was pale and didn’t seem any too sure of her leg action, but she made her objective all right. She spoke to the girl, with no sign of violent emotion that I could detect, not even resentment.
“Helen, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I think you will be when you have calmed down and thought things over. You have no right or reason to talk like that. You accuse me of killing my husband? Why?”