Boyd had been talking to Catherine some time before I got to the house the next morning. With what success was evident from his manner.
“That damn girl!” he said with exasperation. “Anybody would think she wanted to hang for the murder of that awful person. She’s beyond me. She refuses, in spite of everything, to say where she was, what she was doing, or who she was with yesterday.”
Lewis shook his head. “Well, we’ve got to make a go at it in spite of her. Did you see Maitland-Rice?”
“Last night,” Boyd said. “I waited for the blighter until 11:30. He came home in a frightful whack. I thought he was drunk at first, but he wasn’t. I had to let him have a couple of stiff ones before I could get much out of him.”
“Where had he been?”
“Sitting up with the little feathered friends, I fancy.
