Miles in for a few questions."
"What have you got there--a dance program?" Strawn asked curiously, but
as Dundee continued to stare silently at the thing he held, the older
man strode to the door and relayed the order to a plainclothes
detective.
"I sent for _Mrs._ Miles," Dundee said coldly, when husband and wife
appeared together, Flora's thin, tense shoulders encircled by Tracey's
plump arm.
"If you're going to badger my wife further, I intend to be present,
sir!" Miles retorted, thrusting out his chest.
"Very well!" Dundee conceded curtly. "Mrs. Miles, why didn't you tell me
in the first place that you were _in this room_ when Nita Selim was
shot?"
"Because I wasn't--in--in the room," Flora protested, clinging with both
thin, big-veined hands to her husband's arm.
"Sir, you have no proof of this absurd accusation, and I shall
personally take this matter up--"
"I have the best of proof," Dundee said quietly, and took his hand from
his pocket. "You recognize this, Mrs. Miles?... You admit that it is the
tally card you used while playing bridge this afternoon?"
"No, no! It isn't mine!" Flora cried hysterically, cringing against her
husband, who began to protest in a voice falsetto with rage.
Dundee ignored his splutterings.
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