hands and drank as a little child would. She seemed quite pathetic.

"Now, then, Mrs. Cartwright," he prodded her.

"Yes... the day of the funeral," she began at last. "I really don't remember quite clearly. I was in a frightful state. Everything seemed so hazy . . . Cecil didn't come to the services at the house. I remember his standing outside the church when we were leaving for the cemetery, and then suddenly he was there in the car beside me. I was too upset to ask him to leave."

"Please go on, Mrs. Cartwright."

"Cecil insisted he drive home with me. I was so overcome at the time that for the moment I forgot who and what he was. I felt I needed someone, no matter, who, in this hour of need. There was no one I could turn to."

"Of course," he said. He was no longer looking at her objectively. She was no longer his client. She was an attractive woman telling a story in which he had become engrossed, although he had heard it numerous times before, and he occasionally made little sympathetic noises with his mouth. "Go on, please, Mrs. Cartwright," he said gently and eagerly, for he liked best that part of the story which was to come.

"He came back to the house with me... Her voice broke and she grasped the arms of her chair. "I can't go on!" she moaned.

"Please, Mrs. Cartwright."

"I... I can't remember!"

"Your mind is trying to forget, Mrs. Cartwright. A perfectly normal reaction. You have been through a great deal. I understand. Let me help you. Mr. Kelsey returned from your husband's funeral with you and you both dined at your home. You were grateful for his companionship despite the fact that he had been forcing his attentions upon you. That, under the circumstances, is quite understandable. I have been relating the facts correctly so far, have I not. Mrs. Cartwright?"

"Yes," she answered.

"Now, then," he said, "as to what happened afterward. I want the jury to hear from your own lips, Mrs. Cartwright." He leaned forward and smiled reassuringly at her.

"We both went into the library," she began slowly. "I had asked Cecil if he would help me arrange some of my husband's papers." "What happened in the library?" he asked.

"He attacked me," she said simply.

"I see. And did you struggle with him?"

"Yes," she answered. "But he was like a crazed man!"

"And during the struggle, you managed to get your husband's revolver from the desk drawer."

"Yes."

"You pointed it at the deceased with the primary intention of frightening off his attack."

"Yes," she said.

"That is all," he said. "You may step down, Mrs. Cartwright."

*

"Let's go into the library," Monica said. "Bill has some very good brandy." Cecil wearily pulled himself to his feet and followed her.

"I really don't want any brandy, Monica," he said.

"Neither do I," she said, and closed the library doors and stood with her back

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