"What took you downstairs at so early an hour yesterday morning?"
"I had rung the upstairs bell for Julie, and as she did not come, I started to go down and find her," she hesitated uncertainly.
"Continue," directed Penfield. "Tell your story of finding Mr. Spencer's body in your own way."
It was some minutes before Kathleen obeyed his request. "I went to the elevator and pushed the button," she began slowly. "I was in a hurry, and when I heard the click which indicated the cage was there I opened the outer mahogany door, pushed back the inner steel grille-work door, stepped into the elevator and without looking about me, closed the doors, and pushed the basement button. Then I turned about"—Kathleen moistened her dry lips—"and saw—and saw—Mr. Spencer lying there—the blood"—she closed her eyes as if to shut out the recollection—"I think for a time I lost my reason. I have no intelligent recollection of anything that occurred until I found myself in bed with a trained nurse in attendance."
As her charming voice ceased, Charles Miller, who had never taken his eyes from her face, gently moved his chair so that Foster's figure cast him in shadow. Never once had Kathleen glanced his way; she sat for the most part with her eyes downcast or looking directly at the coroner. Kathleen was visibly moved by the recital of her experiences in the elevator, and Penfield waited an instant before questioning her further.
"Could you tell from what floor the elevator came when you pushed your floor button?" he asked.
"No," was the disappointing answer. "The elevator runs practically noiselessly, and we have no floor indicator such as you see in stores."
"Was the electric light turned on in the elevator when you entered it?"
"No."
"Then how could you see Mr. Spencer so clearly?"