"Yes." Both men never moved their gaze from Whitney's ashen face. "Were all members of your family on good terms with Mr. Spencer?"
"They were," Whitney moistened his parched lips, and only the detective caught his furtive glance behind him.
"Did anyone beside your immediate family spend last night in this house,
Mr. Whitney?" he asked.
"No—yes," confusedly. "Miss Kiametia Grey…."
"Winslow"—Mrs. Whitney, fully dressed, stepped into the hall from her boudoir. "Pardon me," with a courteous inclination of her head as the coroner and Mitchell rose. "Winslow, I've asked the servants, and they tell me she has disappeared…."
"She? Who?" chorused the three men.
"Julie, my French maid."
CHAPTER XIII
HIDE AND SEEK
Charles Miller was generally an early riser, but the head waiter at the Metropole was surreptitiously scanning his watch before giving the signal to close the dining-room doors, when the Captain walked in and took his accustomed seat at a distant table. Miller had but time to glance at the headline, "Stormy Cabinet Meeting Predicted at White House Today," in his morning newspaper, when eggs and toast were placed before him. His attentive waiter poured the hot coffee and placed cream and sugar in his cup without waiting for instructions.