“I told her not to sit up late.” Kitty did not meet the inspector’s eyes. “Aunt Susan seldom went to bed before one or two o’clock in the morning; she claimed it rested her to sit up and read in the library.”
“Were the servants here when you left the house?” asked Mitchell.
“Servants?” A ghost of a smile touched Kitty’s lips. “Aunty would not employ any one but old Oscar. He never comes until about seven in the morning, and leaves immediately after dinner.”
“And was it your custom to leave your aunt alone in the house at night?” Mitchell was blind to the heavy frown with which McLean listened to his continued questioning of Kitty. The surgeon guessed the tension she was under and dreaded a breakdown.
“Occasionally, yes.” Observing Mitchell’s expression, Kitty added hastily, “Why not? Aunt Susan feared no one.”
“And she was murdered.” Inspector Mitchell eyed her keenly; then glanced at his companions—both men were watching Kitty.
“Or killed herself—” Kitty spoke with an effort. “How did you learn of my aunt’s death?”
Inspector Mitchell seemed not to hear the question and Kitty repeated it more peremptorily.
“We received a telephone message, at Headquarters,” he stated finally. “I was in the office at the time and came over to investigate.” He paused dramatically. “We found your aunt sitting dead in that chair.” He walked over and touched the throne-shaped chair. Kitty did not follow him except with her eyes.