There was craning of necks and bending of heads as the Morgue Master opened the door leading to the room where the witnesses waited to be called, and every eye was focussed on Kitty Baird as she stepped into the court room.
“Don’t look so startled, Kitty,” whispered Dr. Leonard McLean in her ear. He had retained his seat by the door, expecting to leave at any moment. “This inquest is only a legal formality.”
“But these people—the publicity,” she faltered.
“Move on, Miss, move on,” directed Hume, the Morgue Master. “You can’t talk to the witnesses, Doctor. This way, Miss,” and interposing his thickset, stocky figure between Leonard and Kitty, he followed her to the platform and administered the oath: “To tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
Kitty sat down in the witness chair with a feeling of thankfulness. The space between it and the door through which she had entered had seemed an endless distance as she traversed it. Coroner Penfield swung his chair around so as to obtain a better view of her.
“Your full name?” he asked.
“Katrina Baird.” Her low voice barely reached the jurors, and Penfield smiled at her encouragingly.
“Please speak louder,” he suggested. “Were you related to Miss Susan Baird?”
“Yes; she was my aunt,” Kitty’s voice gained in strength as her confidence returned. “My father, Judge George Baird, was her only brother.”
“You made your home in Georgetown with your aunt?”