The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

I can't help you on that. In the past two years I haven't seen Carol more than five or six times, at parties and so on. I've had some correspondence with her, and I've spoken with her on the phone fairly often, but only on business manuscripts I sent her or wanted to send her. Of course I've heard talk about her. There are people who will say to a man, I understand your ex-wife is having a time with so-and-so.' That doesn't mean anything. Nothing those people say means anything.

You're wrong, Mr. Krug. Every word uttered since man first invented words is a part of the record, though unrecorded. I grant that tattle is often vacuous. A question. If your association with your former wife has been only casual since the divorce, why did you omit her name from the list you gave me, and why did you not identify her picture?

Krug nodded. Of course. Pause. Frankly, I don't know.

Nonsense.

It may be nonsense, but I don't know. Not putting her name on the list, that's easy to understand. He stopped. A long pause. No, I won't dodge it. It doesn't matter how I justified it consciously. We can't control our subconscious mind, but sometimes we know what it's up to. Subconsciously I refused to accept the possibility that Carol had sent anonymous letters to Lucy Valdon, so I didn't put her on the list and I tore the picture up. That's the best I can do, either for you or for the police.

The police should never ask you. They will of course ask you this, so I might as well: did you kill Carol Mardus?

Oh, for God's sake. No.

When and how did you learn of her death?

I was in the country for the weekend. I have a little place at Pound Ridge. Manny Upton phoned while I was having a late breakfast; the police had notified him and asked him to identify the body. Carol had no relatives in New York. I drove to town and went to my office, and I had only been there a few minutes when Leo Bingham phoned and asked me to come here.

You spent the night in the country?

Yes.