Macklin steered her to a chair. He seemed very solicitous and somehow possessive.
The Coroner treated her as if she were made of egg shells.
From the evidence there had been a party at Fuller’s apartment. Most of the guests had been pretty high. Fuller had been drinking whisky and champagne all the evening, and he had been very unsteady on his legs. It had been a hot night, and the party had moved out into the roof garden after dinner.
There were thirty steps leading down to a second terrace. Most of the party had gone down there to get a closer look at the lights of the City.
Fuller and Gilda had remained at the top of the steps. Suddenly Fuller was seen to stumble. Then he fell. Gilda had made a desperate grab at his arm, but she had been too late.
He was dead when they reached him.
Maddox muttered to me, “That’s what I call a four million dollar push. A poor old drunk like Fuller would be child’s play to her.”
There was no trouble about the verdict. Everyone had seen the accident. The Coroner was careful not to stress the fact that Fuller was drunk. He said apparently Fuller had become suddenly dizzy and had lost his balance. He expressed his sympathy for the widow, and then everyone drifted out, looking sorrowful.
Gilda was the first to leave. She didn’t see me. She was holding her handkerchief to her eyes and Macklin, fussing a little, held her arm.
“Well, well,” Maddox said. “Who says you can’t get away with murder? Anyway, she never did get any money out of me.”
He nodded to me and went bustling down the steps and climbed into a taxi.
As I reach,ed the street, I was in time to see Gilda and Macklin drive away in a big cream and blue Cadillac. She was looking at him, her face now bright and expectant, and he was leaning towards her, hanging on her words with that touch of deference any up-and-coming attorney puts on when listening to a four million dollar client.
As I was walking back to the shop, for no reason at all, I suddenly remembered Delaney’s words when he talked to me on the verandah so many weeks ago:
Do you know what’s the matter with my wife? I’ll tell you. She’s mad about money. That’s all she thinks about.
I paused, and stared blankly down the street.
Had she poisoned Delaney?
Had she pushed Fuller down the steps?
Had Maddox been right after all?
Then I remembered the softness of her body as she had lain in my arms, her forget-me-not blue eyes and her loveliness.
No, I said to myself, she wouldn’t have done such a thing: not to Delaney, nor to Fuller.
I loved her.
How could I possibly believe such a thing about a woman I loved and would go on loving to the end of my days?