“Of course—‘petting’ they call it, or did. You never know from one minute to the next just what a thing is being called. And then he went to his room to dress?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Certainly.”
“Has he a valet?”
“Herbert? Heavens, no.”
“And you dressed?”
“Yes.”
“Roberts helped you?”
“Of course.”
“Then when Mr. Endicott said goodbye?”
“He called it through the closed door.”
Lieutenant Valcour almost visibly showed his surprise. “He did say goodbye?”
“Herbert insists upon saying goodbye. He rapped on the door and called in. If it would interest you to know his exact words,” she said bitterly, “they were in the falsetto voice he uses when he thinks he’s being especially funny and were, ‘Don’t be angry with Herbie-werbie, sweetheart. Goodie-byskie.’ ”
“They’re almost a motive in themselves,” said Lieutenant Valcour, smiling. “Which door did he rap on, Mrs. Endicott?”