“Oh, I am relieved,” Mrs. Parsons purred out the words. “No one can afford to defy the conventions. If your cousin was not here, I would volunteer myself—”
“Thanks—excuse me, Mrs. Parsons—” The portières opened and closed behind her vanishing figure and Mrs. Parsons found herself alone in the library.
Raising her gold lorgnette Mrs. Parsons took a prolonged survey of the throne-shaped chair standing in its customary place behind the tea table. It required but little stretch of the imagination to visualize Miss Susan Baird presiding over the tea cups, her hawklike nose and piercing eyes. In spite of the warmth of the library, Mrs. Parsons shivered and drew her costly fur coat more closely about her.
With some hesitancy she approached the tea table and scanned the antique silver tea service. She had admired it on many occasions. Taking up the teapot she reversed it and tried to decipher the hall mark; failing to do so she examined first the cream pitcher and then the sugar bowl. As she lowered the bowl, she glanced across the tea table and saw two large yellow eyes regarding her from the throne-shaped chair.
Mouchette stood in the chair with her fore-paws resting on the table and her fluffy tail was lashing itself into a fury. It was the cat’s evident intention to spring upon the table and Mrs. Parsons retreated precipitously. She hated cats. As she passed the table, she dropped the sugar bowl on its polished surface. The bowl skidded, half righted itself, then fell to the floor, the heavy rug deadening the noise. With it went a small object unseen by Mrs. Parsons who, not stopping to pick up the bowl, proceeded into the hall.
Mouchette, surprised by Mrs. Parsons’ rapid retreat, stood where she was for an instant, then jumped lightly to the floor and sniffed at the sugar bowl. Going over to the small object lying by the bowl she sniffed at that, stretched out an inquisitive paw, gave it a gentle pat, watched it roll a short distance, then convinced that she had a plaything after her own heart, the cat proceeded to roll it hither and yon.
Mrs. Parsons was making straight for the front door when she caught sight of some one in the parlor, the door of which stood ajar. With a quiet air of authority she entered the room. So silently did she move that not until Nina Potter turned away from the Florentine cabinet was she aware of Mrs. Parsons’ presence. The ivory chessman which she held slipped from her fingers and shattered on the hardwood floor.
“Oh, what a pity!” Mrs. Parsons’ air of concern sat prettily upon her. “My dear Nina, did I startle you? I am so distressed.”
“You did,” admitted Nina with a rueful smile. “The quinine I have taken for my cold has made me quite deaf. Does Kitty know that you are here?”
“I have just seen her,” Mrs. Parsons selected a chair and motioned Nina to one beside it. She did not propose to have her call cut short. She had found her source of information. “Kitty had to go upstairs to be with Edward Rodgers. When did the shooting occur?”