for the dead woman and sympathy for her surviving husband.
“You expected her here to play Bridge the night she died, then, Mrs. Gardner, did you not?”
“Oh, yes, she was due here at eleven.”
“And when she failed to come, did you telephone or make any inquiry?”
“Oh, no; Madeleine was a law unto herself. If she chose to break an engagement at the last minute, she did so without a word. And it didn’t matter that way. It isn’t a club, or anything like that. We just have a friendly game now and then, and if any one doesn’t come, there are plenty of others.”
“You think Mrs. Barham expected to come on here after she had made a stay at the Locke party?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so. Mrs. Sayre said that Mrs. Barham told her she would be here at eleven or shortly after. But, as I say, no one ever depended on Mrs. Barham’s word in such matters. She came and went, when and where she would.”
“Did you ever hear her speak of Mr. Locke?”
“Never! It’s the queerest thing. I should as soon have thought of hearing she had gone to the Battery as to Washington Square! I never knew her to go any place south of Fiftieth Street before! To a party, I mean. Who is the man?”
“An artist—apparently a gentleman.”
“Oh, well, I don’t suppose he killed her.”
“Why not?”
“Why would he—when he doesn’t know her?”
“You’re not sure he didn’t know her.”
“Oh, yes, I am. I knew all Maddy’s friends. He wasn’t a rich man?”
“No, I think not.”
