A low whistle escaped Rodgers. “By jove!” he exclaimed. “I did hear some time ago that Leigh was attentive to a Miss Underwood—it never dawned on me that she was the one who married Ben Potter.”
“Did you know Leigh very well in San Francisco?” asked Kitty.
“Pretty well, before he entered the army—civilian appointment, you know,” he added. “I used to see him frequently at Mrs. Parsons’ home in San Francisco. By the way, Ben was a great friend of hers in those days.”
“Who, Mrs. Parsons—?” quickly.
“Yes—some people thought she might marry him.”
Kitty smiled. “The idea is droll,” she commented. “Ben has chosen a much more suitable wife. I cannot imagine Mrs. Parsons and Ben in love with each other; they are such opposite natures. But, dear,” turning troubled eyes toward him, “you say Mrs. Parsons and Leigh were good friends—there’s something I must tell you. Just vague suspicions,” she hesitated. “I cannot bear to be disloyal—to harbor suspicions against a man I have called my friend, but—” she took from her pocket a piece of mauve-colored paper—“I lunched with Leigh to-day at the Shoreham and our waiter slipped this paper into his hand. Leigh carelessly dropped it on my doorstep, and not realizing what I was doing, I read it.”
Rodgers took the paper and, holding it under the dash-light, peered at the writing. “Leigh, you are watched,” he read the words aloud and then reversed the paper.
“There is nothing else on it,” Kitty explained. “But the message is in Mrs. Parsons’ handwriting.”
In the darkness Kitty failed to see Rodgers’ odd expression. After waiting vainly for some comment, she added, “Do you suppose that Mrs. Parsons suspects Leigh is in some way responsible for Aunt Susan’s death?”
“That might be inferred.” Rodgers folded the paper and placed it carefully in his leather wallet. “With your permission, I’ll keep this.”