“I assure you I’m serious.”

“I know it.  And anyway, I was thinking of running out for a minute—­and I suppose this is a good chance.  Of course, I’d stay and see you if you wanted—­but I suppose you’ve got something terribly dry to discuss and so—­”

She left the room and Carroll heaved a sigh of infinite relief.  A few minutes later the hall door swung back and Naomi and Evelyn entered.  He was immensely relieved to see that the youngster was cloaked for the street and murmured a few idle words to her before she went.  And until the front door banged behind her he remained standing before the fireplace, his eyes focused on the tragic figure of Naomi.

She faced him bravely enough, but in her eyes he read the message of knowledge.  There was no need for words between them.  She knew why he had come—­and he knew that she knew.

“Sit down, please, Mr. Carroll.”

He waited until she had seated herself and then followed suit.  He controlled his voice with an effort—­his words came softly, reassuringly.

“I’m sorry I’ve come this way, Mrs. Lawrence.  I’ve come—­”

“I know why you have come, Mr. Carroll.  You need not mince matters.”

He drew a long breath.  “Isn’t it true, Mrs. Lawrence, that you were the woman in the taxi-cab the night Mr. Warren was killed?”

She inclined her head.  “Yes.”

Carroll fidgeted nervously.  “I must warn you to be careful in what you say to me, my friend.  I am the detective in charge of this case, and—­”

“There is no use in concealment, Mr. Carroll.  I have been driven almost crazy since that night.  I have almost reached the end of my rope.  It was the scandal I have been fighting to avoid—­not so much for my own sake as for Evelyn and my husband.  Publicity—­of this kind—­would be very—­very—­awkward—­for both of them.”

“I’m sorry—­” Carroll hesitated.  “If you don’t care to talk to me—­”

She shrugged slightly.  “It makes no difference—­now.  I’d rather talk to you than someone who might understand less readily—­or more harshly.”

“I may question you?”

“Yes.”

“I regret it—­and rest assured that I am trying to find—­a way out—­for you.”

“There is no way out—­from the scandal.  But that is my own fault—­”

Somewhere down the block an auto horn shrieked:  in another room of the house an old grandfather’s clock chimed sonorously.

“You admit that you were the woman in the taxicab?”

“Yes.  Certainly.”

“Do you admit that you killed Roland Warren?”

Her startled eyes flashed to his.  The color drained from her cheeks.  Her answer was almost inaudible—­

“No!”

“You did not kill him?” Carroll was impressed with the nuance of truth in her answer.

“No—­I did not kill him.”

“But when you got into the taxicab—­isn’t it a fact that he was already there?”