Rodgers’ gaze had strayed to the floor. Stooping down he rubbed his hand over the bare hardwood boards. “Your flooring is well worn right here,” he said. “Some weight or some one has stood here constantly. Bend closer and you will see that the varnish is completely worn away.”
Kitty followed his suggestion. “I don’t understand,” she exclaimed, standing erect. “It bewilders me. What does it mean?”
“Some one has been using this panel—for what purpose we have yet to find out.” Rodgers spoke half to himself, then asked more loudly: “Have you given all your aunt’s papers to Mr. Craige?”
“Yes—even old letters.”
“Do you know their contents?”
“I did not stop to read them all.” Kitty’s troubled expression deepened. “I gave him every paper I could find.”
“I am glad Mr. Craige has them,” exclaimed Rodgers heartily. “If he has the papers which the woman bribed Oscar to secure for her, we can solve that mystery. There is just one other question, Miss Baird. Did your aunt see very much of Mrs. Amos Parsons?”
Outside in the shadows the listening figure stiffened as it bent dangerously close to catch Kitty’s answer.
“Not any more than Aunt Susan could help—” Kitty’s tired young voice held a hint of mirth as it came through the open panel. “She abominated Mrs. Parsons and deeply resented my acting as her secretary.”