“What do you mean?” she asked tremulously.
“Mrs. Pitts,” replied Kennedy quickly, observing still the play of emotion on her delicate features, “some one, I believe, either regularly in or employed in this house or who had a ready means of access to it must have entered that kitchen last night. For what purpose, I can leave you to judge. But Sam surprised the intruder there and was killed for his faithfulness.”
Her startled look told plainly that though she might have suspected something of the sort she did not think that any one else suspected, much less actually perhaps knew it.
“I can’t imagine who it could be, unless it might be one of the servants,” she murmured hastily; adding, “and there is none of them that I have any right to suspect.”
She had in a measure regained her composure, and Kennedy felt that it was no use to pursue the conversation further, perhaps expose his hand before he was ready to play it.
“That woman is concealing something,” remarked Kennedy to me as we left the house a few minutes later.
“She at least bears no marks of violence herself of any kind,” I commented.
“No,” agreed Craig, “no, you are right so far.” He added: “I shall be very busy in the laboratory this afternoon, and probably longer. However, drop in at dinner time, and in the meantime, don’t say a word to any one, but just use your position on the Star to keep in touch with anything the police authorities may be doing.”
It was not a difficult commission, since they did nothing but issue a statement, the net import of which was to let the public know that they were very active, although they had nothing to report.
Kennedy was still busy when I rejoined him, a little late purposely, since I knew that he would be over his head in work.