“And you spoke of Mr. Ditmar's death?” Insall inquired.
“Why yes, I told her how he had been shot in Dover Street by a demented Italian, and if it hadn't been proved that the Italian was insane and not a mill worker, the result of the strike might have been different.”
“How did she take it?”
“Well, she was shocked, of course. She sat up in bed, staring at me, and then leaned back on the pillows again. I pretended not to notice it—but I was sorry I'd said anything about it.”
“She didn't say anything?”
“Not a word.”
“Didn't you know that, before the strike, she was Ditmar's private stenographer?”
“No!” Augusta Maturin exclaimed. “Why didn't you tell me?”
“It never occurred to me to tell you,” Insall replied.
“That must have something to do with it!” said Mrs. Maturin.