Foster moved uncomfortably. "I am sincerely sorry," he mumbled. "I have been grossly deceived."
"Humph!" Miss Kiametia moved closer to his side. "Go on—confession is good for the soul."
"I can't tell you just now," was the disappointing rejoinder. "Who found
Whitney in his studio this morning?"
"I did; and a nice shock I had," with a shudder. "The antics in this house are deranging my nervous system. I can't even sleep."
"How did you happen to be around at that hour?"
"Rosa had a bad attack of indigestion after serving dinner, and I promised to look in and see how she was during the night. Just as I came out of her room I thought I heard groans and rushed upstairs; found the studio door open, and by aid of my electric torch, found Winslow lying on the floor."
"Did you see anyone else in the room?"
"No, I only had the light from the torch to guide me, and that is a very big room, with models and furniture standing around in odd spots."
"Why didn't you turn on the electric lights?" impatiently.
"Couldn't find the switch. I did press a button, the only one I could locate in my haste, and it brought Henry, who switched on the lights for me."