“People are blackmailed into giving up more things than money, Mrs. Endicott. I’m not suggesting that your husband was after money, but I do suggest that to further some abortive purpose Mr. Endicott held the postscript forgery that you made over Marge Myles’s head as a threat. I have just found that letter in his trunk, and it is now in my pocket.”
“Abortive purpose—Don’t go on just for a moment, please—I’m trying to make it fit.”
“It’s something along the lines of cruelty that I’m suggesting—some special cruelty.”
“Perhaps. Herbert liked to see things squirm. He was subconsciously sadistic.”
“He probably drove her pretty far, because she made up her mind to get that letter—he undoubtedly greatly magnified its importance as evidence to her—no matter at what risk to herself. I don’t really believe that when she came here last night she had any intention at all of actually killing your husband. What she wanted was that letter. Did you let her into the house, Mrs. Endicott?”
Mrs. Endicott smiled a bit acidly and kept her lips tightly compressed.
“Because if you didn’t,” Lieutenant Valcour went on, “she must have stolen a key from your husband. At any rate, she was in the house here and searching for the letter in Mr. Endicott’s room sometime around seven last night. Mr. Endicott should have been miles away up at her apartment, according to appointment, and leaving her a clear field. She had planned the whole thing out pretty carefully, because she left a note for Madame Velasquez, who was due to arrive at the apartment for a visit last night. Marge implied in the note that it had been written after seven when, as a matter of fact, it must have been written considerably earlier and planted in the apartment either as an alibi or as an explanation to