“Then the first thing I want to know is this: was there any one particular instance in which Mr. Endicott’s actions toward one of the servants were especially brutal or resented?”
The coals began to glow faintly beneath the ash that dusted her eyes.
“There was one very particular instance, Lieutenant.”
“Recently, Mrs. Siddons?”
“It occurred about a year ago, almost to a day.”
“Did Mr. Endicott attack her?”
“Yes.”
“Here in the house?”
“No, Lieutenant. It happened on her afternoon and evening out. Mr. Endicott’s car was parked outside at the curb. He offered her a ride.”
“Where is this girl now, Mrs. Siddons?”
“She was committed last year to an institution for the insane.”
The ash was completely gone now, and her eyes blazed with avenging fires.
“But surely she brought charges, Mrs. Siddons?”
“She was insane when they found her, Lieutenant. She was trying to die by throwing herself in front of a motor in Central Park. She has never spoken lucidly since.”
Lieutenant Valcour shrugged hopelessly. There it was again: that wretched wave of hearsay showing its baffling crest above the placid sea