The reporters were prejudiced on the spot, so impatient are newspaper men of any sort of pose or attempt to impress them. As she entered the room she greeted them pleasantly, looking straight at them with her large cold eyes, and allowed herself to be conducted to a chair by the polite Mr. Broderick. She knew that in her high unrelieved black she looked older than common, but this was a deliberately calculated effect. She was not as adroit as she would have been after recurrent experiences with the press, but instinct warned her to look the dignified middle-aged widow, quite above the coquetry of the bare throat of fashion, or of tempering her weeds with soft white lawn. As Mr. Broderick made a little speech of gratitude for her gracious reception of the press, she appraised her guests. The greater number were well-groomed, well-dressed, well-bred in effect, very sure of themselves; altogether a striking contrast to the local reporters that had come in on their heels. She answered Mr. Broderick diffidently: "I have never been interviewed. I am afraid you will hardly find--what do you call it?--a story?--in me." "We don't wish to be too personal," he said gently, "but the public is tremendously interested in this case, and more particularly in you. It isn't always that it takes an interest in the wife of a murdered man--but--well, you see, you are such a personality in this community. We really must have an interesting interview." He smiled at her with a charming expression of masculine indulgence that made her own eyes soften. "You see--don't you--we hate to intrude--but--we understand that you had a serious quarrel with your husband on the last day of his life. Would you mind telling us what you did after leaving the Country Club?" She gave him a frozen stare, but recalled Mr. Cummack's warning not to take offence--"for remember that these men have their living to get, and if they fall down on their job they don't get it. Blame their paper, not them." "That is a surprising question," she said sweetly. "Do you expect me to answer it?" "Why not? Of course you read the newspapers. You know we have told the public of the scene at the clubhouse already--and with no detriment to you! It was a very dramatic scene, and every moment that you passed from that time until Mr. Balfame fell at his gate will be of the most absorbing interest to the public. In fact, they will eat it up." Mrs. Balfame shrugged her shoulders. "As a matter of fact I have not read a newspaper since the--" She set her lips and her eyes grew hard--"the crime. I know you have written a great deal about it, but it hasn't interested me. Well--Dr. Anna Steuer drove me home, and shortly after I went up to my room--" "Pardon me; let us take things in their turn. You took a box of sardines and some bread from the pantry, did you not?" "I did." Mrs. Balfame's tones were both puzzled and bored.