“Then can you tell me who invited Mrs. Barham to Mr. Locke’s studio party?”
“That I cannot. I should be glad to learn, myself. I had no idea she knew him, or knew any people who would be likely to attend the affair.”
“Yet she was there.”
“Not only that, Mr. Hutchins, but she went there voluntarily and from her own home. Her own maid dressed her in the Oriental costume, and her own chauffeur drove her there at her directions. All of this is as much a mystery to me as to you. Clear it up if you can.”
Though Barham’s voice was steady and his manner calm, Nelson noted the occasional clenching of his hands or biting of his lip, as if he held himself under control with difficulty.
“You’ve asked Mrs. Selden about it?” asked Nelson.
“That reminds me,” Hutchins put in, “I must ask to see Mrs. Selden. Shall I interview her later, or will you send for her now?”
Barham considered.
“As you like,” he said, “but Mrs. Selden is exceedingly nervous—even hysterical. Can you not excuse her?”
“No; it is imperative. And, it will save time,” he glanced at the library clock,“ if she will come here now.”
“Get her, will you, Nick?” Barham said, and Nelson left the room.
“Be careful with her,” Barham warned Hutchins. “She may be cool and collected, and yet, ready to fly into a passion at some simple remark.”
“I’ll manage her,” said the detective carelessly and confidently; yet when, a moment later, Marcia Selden appeared, he lost a little of his cocksure confidence in himself.
She came into the room, tall, stately, gowned in the deepest black, and her face was like a thundercloud. She
