"How," asked Vance evenly, "do you account for the rather remarkable fact that Mr. Greene gave orders that you were to remain here as long as you cared to?"
"Mr. Greene was a very kind and generous man," she asserted, in a flat, combative voice. "Some there were that thought him hard, and accused him of being unjust; but he was always good to me and mine."
"How well did he know Mr. Mannheim?"
There was a pause, and the woman's eyes looked blankly ahead.
"He helped my husband once, when he was in trouble."
"How did he happen to do this?"
There was another pause, and then:
"They were in some deal together—in the old country." She frowned and appeared uneasy.
"When was this?"
"I don't remember. It was before I was married."
"And where did you first meet Mr. Greene?"
"At my home in New Orleans. He was there on business—with my husband."
"And, I take it, he befriended you also."
The woman maintained a stubborn silence.
"A moment ago," pursued Vance, "you used the phrase 'me and mine.'—Have you any children, Mrs. Mannheim?"
For the first time during the interview her face radically changed expression. An angry gleam shone in her eyes.
"No!" The denial was like an ejaculation.
Vance smoked lethargically for several moments.
