“The glass of milk is still untouched,” said Brunt, “but the plate is empty. What did it contain?”
“A sandwich, I think,” said Anita. “That is what Estelle usually prepared for her. She will know,—Estelle, the maid.”
“Miss Carrington’s lady’s maid?”
“Yes; though not hers exclusively. She was expected to act as maid for Miss Stuart and myself also, at such times as Miss Carrington didn’t require her services.”
“And she, then, brought the breakfast tray, that is upset on the floor?”
“Yes; Miss Lucy always had an early cup of tea, before she dressed for breakfast with the family.”
“And the maid took it to her this morning? Did she not then discover the—the tragedy?”
“She says not!” cried Pauline; “but I’m sure she did! She says she saw Miss Lucy at the mirror, and thinking her engrossed, merely left the tray on the tabouret and went away.”
“Ridiculous!” exclaimed Haviland; “What does Estelle mean by such lies? Of course she saw Miss Carrington’s strange appearance, of course she was frightened out of her wits, and of course she dropped the tray and ran. But why not say so? And why not give an immediate alarm? She took that tray, probably, about eight. Pauline went up at nine. What was Estelle doing all that time? Why didn’t she go in to dress Miss Carrington? I tell you, Mr. Inspector, there’s a lot of queer work to be explained, and with all due respect to the force, I’m pretty sure you’ll need expert service if you’re going to get anywhere. And I’m sure, too, that if we can get word to Carrington Loria and back, he’ll say spare no trouble or expense to avenge his aunt’s murder. He is equally heir with you, Pauline, and he ought to be consulted.”
“The will hasn’t been read yet,” said Miss Stuart; “we can’t assume anything until that is done.”