“Most abusive. I was quite alarmed.”
“Used threatening language, eh?”
“Yes. I am not accustomed to being threatened.”
“What did they threaten you with? Bodily damage?”
“Not exactly.”
“I’m afraid, Mrs. Price Ridley, you must be more explicit. In what way were you threatened?”
This Mrs. Price Ridley seemed singularly reluctant to answer.
“I can’t remember exactly. It was all so upsetting. But right at the end—when I was really very upset, this—this— wretch laughed.”
“Was it a man’s voice or a woman’s?”
“It was a degenerate voice,” said Mrs. Price Ridley, with dignity. “I can only describe it as a kind of perverted voice. Now gruff, now squeaky. Really a very peculiar voice.”
“Probably a practical joke,” said the colonel soothingly.
“A most wicked thing to do, if so. I might have had a heart attack.”
“We’ll look into it,” said the colonel; “eh, inspector? Trace the telephone call. You can’t tell me more definitely exactly what was said, Mrs. Price Ridley?”
A struggle began in Mrs. Price Ridley’s ample black bosom. The desire for reticence fought against a desire for vengeance. Vengeance triumphed.
“This, of course, will go no further,” she began.
“Of course not.”