“No,” she replied quickly. “I came from Odessa. I have never been to the capital. But of course you have.”
“Yes,” I said reflectively. “Unfortunately, however, my last visit was marred by a very sad occurrence.”
“What was it?” she asked, lounging languidly in her chair.
“The murder of my friend Ivan Liustig,” I replied calmly, gazing straight into her eyes.
The announcement did not produce the effect I had intended. She stirred uneasily, but merely raised her eyebrows and uttered a low exclamation of horror.
“The poor fellow was poisoned,” I continued, at the same time drawing my wallet from my pocket. “Here is his photograph,” I added, handing her a carte de visite.
She looked calmly at the pictured face.
“Very sad—very sad indeed,” she remarked. “And was the murderer caught?”
She kept her eyes upon the photograph as she asked the question.
“Murderess,” I said, in as unconcerned a tone as I could.