Charles Craige was the first to speak. “You bring a serious charge against my godchild,” he said sternly. “I demand your proof.”
Mitchell turned slightly to address the man on his left. “How about it, Mr. Potter?” he asked.
Potter seemed to have some difficulty in speaking, for a moment elapsed before he answered.
“Kitty spent Sunday night with us,” he began. “I came home late, having been detained at my club, and was surprised to see Kitty walk out of my apartment house and jump into Major Wallace’s car—”
He got no further. Kitty was on her feet, her face scarlet.
“You saw me?” she cried. “Me!”
“Yes,” meeting her gaze unwaveringly. “I recognized your red coat.” He paused, then added slowly, “I followed you to Georgetown and saw you enter this house—”
Kitty dropped back in her chair as if shot. Her eyes wandered from Nina Potter, sitting with head averted, to Wallace, who stared straight in front of him, and then to Ted Rodgers, who sat with closed eyes, his head resting against the high back of the throne-shaped chair. No one broke the tense silence and after a brief pause Mitchell spoke.
“You got your aunt’s fortune, Miss Baird—and then you got cold feet—” he paused dramatically. “There was one man who suspected you, and so you tried to do away with him. I found your revolver, with one chamber discharged in the bottom of Mr. Rodgers’ car—”
“So I have heard,” Kitty’s fighting spirit was coming to her aid. It had conquered her feeling of deadly faintness, and she faced them, white-lipped but with blazing eyes. “And who was with you, Inspector, when you made that discovery?”