It was a struggle for the executive vice-president, but he made it. He clamped his jaws and sat. Cramer went to the wife.
“You wanted to say something, Mrs. Carlisle?”
“Only that I’m sorry.” Her bony hands, the fingers twined, were on the table before her. “For the trouble I’ve caused.”
“I wouldn’t say you caused it exactly — except for yourself and your husband.” Cramer was mild. “The woman was dead, whether you went in there or not. But, if only as a matter of form, it was essential for me to see you, since you discovered the body. That’s all there is to it as far as I know. There’s no question of your being involved more than that.”
“How the hell could there be?” Carlisle blurted.
Cramer ignored him. “Goodwin here saw you standing in the hall not more than two minutes, probably less, prior to the moment you screamed and ran out of the office. How long had you then been downstairs?”
“We had just come down. I was waiting for my husband to get his things.”
“Had you been downstairs before that?”
“No — only when we came in.”
“What time did you arrive?”