"Mrs. d'Larte, did you kill your husband?" the Defense asked. "No." "Do you know who did kill your husband?" "No." "Why did you lock yourself in your bedroom the night he was killed." "I wanted to be alone." The spectators giggled. "Could you explain how your fingerprints came to be on the iron statue of Venus? The statue that killed your husband." "It was my statue. It is quite possible that my fingerprints would be on it." "And you heard nothing, no sounds of struggle, the night your husband was killed?" "No. I slept awhile that night. I was tired so I locked my door and slept. I heard nothing." "Do you know who would want to kill your husband?" "An enemy I suppose." "Did your husband have any enemies?" "Of course, everyone does. Even God has enemies." That shocked the spectators, but then Isobel had meant it to. Quite suddenly she found herself hating those in the packed court room. Hating these upright citizens who had come to delight in her misfortune. Who sat in smug holier-than-thou attitudes and hoped for the worst. Not one among them really cared what happened to her--as long as it entertained them. Isobel shivered. "Could you be more specific about your husband's enemies?" the Defense asked. "No. He never confided in me. He was only interested in his munitions factories. In machines. He loved machines. He particularly loved destructive machines. Some hated him for that." "The man Mrs. Whychek said you met in the park. Was there such a man?" Isobel twisted her handkerchief. It was a thin, white snake in her hands. "Was there a man, Mrs. d'Larte?" the Defense repeated. "There was a man." "Could you tell us his name?" "I do not know his name. He was a man I met in the park. He was a kind and gentle man. We talked about art, music--the beautiful old art and music. He was well informed about such things. We talked a lot, but I don't know his name. We just talked." "Were you in love with this man, or he with you?" "No! No!" "You definitely were not lovers?" "We were not!" "Thank you, Mrs. d'Larte. Your witness." The Prosecutor approached the witness stand. "Mrs. d'Larte, you do not like the 'Do-It-Yourself' kits the government has put out, do you?" "I do not." "You do not approve or recognize the fact that today everyone is conceded to have talent, do you?" "I do not." "Why, Mrs. d'Larte?" "Anyone can paint, but everyone isn't an artist. Anyone can write, but everyone isn't an author. Anyone can do anything, but everyone does not have talent." "So you spent a great deal of your time in the Museum of the Past looking at the _so-called_ art treasures there?" "Yes. They were worth looking at." "And you did not use that to cover up the fact that you met your lover at the museum?" "I do not have a lover." "The man you met in the park, you just talked to him?"