CHAPTER SIXTEENWe went on across the garden.
“Isn’t that a bit on the locking-the-barn-door side, Colonel?” I asked.
“Oh, definitely,” he admitted. “Well, anybody but a complete ass would have seen, knowing what I knew—or what I’d guessed—about Mrs. Potter, that she was in danger.”
“You really think it was she at the garage?”
“I can’t figure it as any of the rest of you, Mrs. Latham, someway.”
He held up a straggling trailer of trumpet vine for me to go under through the wicket between my place and the Bishops’.
“Who, for example? Lucy Lee?”
He smiled soberly.
“I’m afraid Lucy Lee is pretty transparent. Frankly, it’s really your Rosemary that interests me now. It doesn’t seem credible, does it?—Look at her now.”
We were crossing the lawn up to the great screened and pillared veran
