“No, I won’t deny it.”
“And you believed that he would do something to prevent you from accomplishing your purpose.”
“I suppose I did.”
“And in your naturally upset state of mind last evening Mrs. Siddons’s curious prophecy concerning the maid’s husband taking his revenge made more of a genuine impression upon you than you cared to admit. You were subconsciously afraid that something would happen—that the sailor might really injure or kill your husband, and that Mr. Hollander, when the police investigated, would somehow become involved. There was even a possibility that worshipping you as he does, when he heard of your husband’s murder he might give himself up to the police and offer a false confession in order to shield you. It has often been done, you know.”
“You are right, Lieutenant. I did think exactly that. The muddle of the whole thing began to drive me crazy during dinner. I went down at seven-thirty and ate nothing. I don’t think I stayed at the table for more than five minutes. I went upstairs and into Herbert’s room, looking for something. I really don’t know what—unless it was for some sort of physical confirmation of his aliveness by the things he owned. Then I saw that note on his desk. I hadn’t the shred of a nerve left by then, and the note genuinely worried me. It was such a direct confirmation of Mrs. Siddons’s story. I wasn’t exactly panicky, but I felt as if things had got out of hand. I tried to reach Mr. Hollander by telephone, but he wasn’t in his apartment. I began to picture converging forces: himself—the maid’s husband—and Herbert as a focal point. I felt that something had to be done. Well, I telephoned the police.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the maid and her husband when I came, Mrs. Endicott?”