I'll go to the bedroom with you," Dundee promised
her with a sigh of relief. To the others he spoke sharply:
"Go back to the exact positions in living room and dining room and
solarium, that you occupied when Mrs. Marshall ran from the room."
"I think you're overdoing it, Bonnie," Captain Strawn protested.
"But--sure I'll see that they mind you."
With Karen Marshall clinging to his arm, Dundee walked down the hall,
beyond the staircase to an open door on his left--a door guarded by a
lounging plainclothesman. Seated at the dressing-table of the guests'
lavatory was Flora Miles, her sallow dark face so ravaged that she
looked ten years older than when he had first seen her an hour before.
"So you were in here when you heard Mrs. Marshall scream, Mrs. Miles?"
Dundee paused to ask.
"Yes--yes!" she gasped, rising. "And that horrible man has made me stay
in here--. Of course, the door was closed--before. I telephoned home to
ask about my children, and then I came in here to--to do my face over--"
"You didn't hear your husband arrive?"
"No,--I didn't hear him arrive," Flora Miles faltered, her handkerchief
dabbing at her trembling, over-rouged lips.
"I--see," Dundee said slowly.
He stepped into the little room, leaving Karen to stand weakly against
the door frame.
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