“But surely such an intelligent and charming woman as you, Madame Velasquez”—he unearthed a trowel and laid it on pretty thick—“a woman of the world, surely you can think up other cases where the evidence or proof can be faked. You know very well that you never had any real or visible proof that Marge killed her husband in that canoe disaster, now, don’t you?”
“I did, too, Lieutenant.”
“Nonsense. If you really did, you’d have it with you and would show it to me.”
She nibbled the bait slyly and refused it.
“I wouldn’t, and I haven’t. And,” she said, “I want proof of that trollop’s death. I’ll get it if I have to drag the river myself.”
Madame Velasquez jumped up and ran nervously to the door.
“Then you saw her drown herself, Madame Velasquez?”
“I saw nothing, but I know—I know—what must have been …”
She was out in the corridor and running for the stairs—a velvet virago in blue. Lieutenant Valcour ran out after her, and saw that Cassidy was blocking her way.
“Ring up the wagon, Cassidy, and have her booked as a material witness.”
Madame Velasquez began to screech. “Don’t touch me. Keep your dirty hands off me.”
“Take her downstairs, Cassidy. After you’ve arranged for the wagon leave her with O’Brian. Then go up to the housekeeper’s room and ask Mrs. Siddons if she’ll come down. I’ll see her in Endicott’s room.”