I stood there, staring at the red-gold hairs, the universe swirling in a nauseating shambles round my head. I hardly realized that I was swirling myself until I put out my hand to steady my shaking knees and heard Colonel Primrose’s voice—it might have been a hundred miles away—snap out at me: “Don’t touch that car!”
He caught my hand.
“What is the matter, Mrs. Latham?”
“Nothing,” I gasped. (“Oh, don’t be a fool!” I told myself.) “It’s just the . . . altitude,” I said, more steadily . . . thus unconsciously bringing out the oldest of all Reno alibis.
I took a deep breath. “I’m all right now.”
I looked at him, and tried to smile. He let go my wrist, but he kept on looking at me, his black eyes sharpened, and still a little puzzled.
“Do you know who it is?” he asked evenly.
I nodded.
