“She was a nuisance.” This without the faintest glint of either annoyance or humor. “She came here one night and raised a racket; so I told Bernie that if he couldn’t keep her away from me he’d have to find another playmate.”
“Have you any idea who might have killed him?” I asked.
“Not unless it was his wife—these excitable women are always doing silly things.”
“If you had given her husband up, what reason would she have for killing him, do you think?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she replied with complete indifference. “But I’m not the only girl that Bernie ever looked at.”
“Think there were others, do you? Know anything, or are you just guessing.”
“I don’t know any names,” she said, “but I’m not just guessing.”
I let that go at that and switched back to Mrs. Gilmore, wondering if this girl could be full of dope.
“What happened the night his wife came here?”
“Nothing but that. She followed Bernie here, rang the bell, rushed past me when I opened the door, and began to cry and call Bernie names. Then she started on me, and I told him that if he didn’t take her away I’d hurt her, so he took her home.”
Admitting I was licked for the time, I got up and moved to the door. I couldn’t do anything with this baby just now. I didn’t think she was telling the whole truth, but on the other hand it wasn’t reasonable to believe that anybody would lie so woodenly—with so little effort to be plausible.