“Not the faintest idea in this world; Aunt Susan never dealt long at any one shop.” Kitty shook her head. “The events of the past few days put the coat entirely out of my mind.”
“Then your aunt was the last person to have your coat—?”
“She was certainly the last person in this household to handle it,” she answered. “You speak as if the coat was of some consequence—” with a quick surprised glance at him.
Rogers paused as Oscar’s warning recurred to him “She mustn’t know nawthin’.” Whatever the old negro’s reasons might be for asking him not to discuss the red coat with Kitty—whether important or unimportant—he would keep faith with the old negro and not tell her of the incidents of the morning.
“I always liked the coat,” he declared. “Suppose you don’t get it back—?”
“Oh, the cleaners, whoever they are, will probably send it back when it is dyed so as to get paid,” she answered carelessly. “It is a small loss anyway for the coat was about worn out.” She sighed involuntarily and Rodgers looked at her intently.
“Isn’t this house getting on your nerves?” he asked, observing the deep shadows under her eyes which told their story of wakeful nights and frayed nerves.
“Not so much the house as the mystery,” she admitted, with a slight shiver. “Have you discovered any clues?”
Rodgers touched a small “I.O.U.” paper safely tucked inside his vest pocket. “Nothing of any consequence,” he confessed. “I tried to see Inspector Mitchell this afternoon, but he never returned to Headquarters.”
“He was here.” Kitty paused and considered her companion. The mention of Inspector Mitchell brought back his questions about the Holt will contest. “By the way, the inspector asked if you had ever told me about the law suit over Colonel Holt’s will.”