He could not disbelieve, for the evidence was there.
From behind, as he had sat in his chair Marette Radisson had struck the Inspector of Police with some blunt object.

The blow had stunned him.
And after that-- He drew a hand across his eyes, as if to clear his vision.

What he had seen was impossible.

The evidence was impossible.

Assaulted, in deadly peril, defending either honor or love, Marette Radisson was of the blood to kill.