"
"But the inquest proved that Jimmie was killed by a dose of
aconitine poison," she reminded him, as she tucked the handkerchief
up her sleeve.
Kent did not reply immediately. "A man does not usually carry a
woman's handkerchief about with him," he commented slowly. "Odd,
is it not, that Jimmie should have used a handkerchief of yours
in the police court just prior to his death, while you were sitting
a few feet away?"
"I?" Mrs. Brewster turned and regarded him steadfastly. She was
deadly white under her rouge. "Mr. Kent, are you crazy?"
"Yes, crazy to know why you kept your presence in the police court
on Tuesday morning a secret," replied Kent. In their earnestness
neither noticed Kent's absent-minded clutch on a small folded paper
which he had picked up from the floor of the limousine. "Mrs.
Brewster, why did you laugh when Dr. Stone carried Jimmie Turnbull
out of the court room?"
Mrs. Brewster sat still in her corner of the car; so still that
Kent, observing her closely, feared that she had fainted. She had
dropped her eyes, and her face, set like marble, gave him no key
to her thoughts.
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