“Suppose we sit down,” Mitchell indicated the chairs about the tea table, and taking their consent for granted, deliberately seated himself. With some hesitancy, Potter followed his example and Wallace did so mechanically. Nina Potter, her feet dragging as she stumbled nearer, half fell into an armchair and Craige took the vacant one by Kitty’s side.
“Draw up,” Mitchell directed. “I will lay my cards on the table—and then, Mr. Potter,” as the naturalist started to speak, “we’ll hear what you have to say. Until then, keep quiet.”
Mitchell spoke in a tone which commanded respect and Potter sullenly obeyed him. The silence remained unbroken for a tense moment, then the portières were drawn aside and Welsh, the plain clothes detective, stuck his head inside the library.
“Mrs. Parsons,” he announced, and drew back to let her enter.
Half way across the library the pretty widow paused and inspected the company assembled around the tea table in astonishment.
“My dear Kitty,” she said, dropping her lorgnette. “I stopped only for a minute,” she hesitated. “I fear I am de trop,” and she turned to leave.
“Not a bit of it.” Mitchell spoke so quickly that Kitty, who had risen, had no opportunity to answer Mrs. Parsons. The instinct of courtesy gained ascendancy over her perturbed spirit, and she offered her chair to the pretty widow. “Join us here, Mrs. Parsons,” added Mitchell. “We want your advice.”
Mrs. Parsons’ smile was charming, but her eyes were keenly alert as she moved forward, searching each face for a clue to the scene which she felt she had interrupted. Not observing where she was going, she stepped on something soft. A loud wail from Mouchette caused her to start convulsively, and the Angora cat, switching her injured tail, back and forth, sprang on Kitty’s vacant chair and from there to the tea table.
“That cat is always under my feet, horrid beast!” Mrs. Parsons, conscious of appearing ridiculous, for Wallace had not restrained a chuckle, spoke with irritation.