But he couldn’t help realizing, as the cross-questioning went on, that Miss Burt really gave very little information of any value. Perhaps because she had none to give, perhaps because she chose to withhold it.
“Your name?” Mr. Benson had first asked.
“Dorothy Burt,” was the answer, and the modest voice, with a touch of sadness, as befitting the occasion, seemed to have just the right ring to it.
“Your occupation?”
“I am companion and social secretary to Mrs. Carleton.”
“Do you know of anything that can throw any light on any part of the mystery surrounding the death of Miss Van Norman?”
Miss Burt drew her pretty eyebrows slightly together, and thought a moment.
“No,” she said quietly; “I am sure I do not.”
So gentle and sweet was she, that many a questioner would have dismissed her then and there; but Mr. Benson, hoping to get at least a shred of evidence bearing on Schuyler Carleton’s strange behavior, continued to question her.
“Tell us, please, Miss Burt, what you know of Mr. Carleton’s actions on the night of Miss Van Norman’s death.”