CHAPTER VIII
THE CASE OF THE GILA MONSTER
Unaware that he had a place in Mrs. Parsons’ meditations as well as in her conversation with Major Leigh Wallace, Ted Rogers parked his car near the entrance to “Rose Hill.” His ring at the front door bell was answered by Mandy, the ebony shadow of Oscar, her husband.
“Kin yo’ see Miss Kitty?” She repeated the question after him. “Why, I ’spect yo’ kin, Mister Rodgers. Jes’ step inside, Sah, an’ I’ll go find Miss Kitty.”
Closing the front door and putting up the night latch with much jingling, Mandy led Rodgers down the hall to the entrance of the library.
“The lamps am lighted in hyar,” she said by way of explanation. “Ole Miss never used to let Miss Kitty have a light in de odder rooms on dis flo’, cept when Oscar was a-servin’ dinner. An’ we all got so we jes’ never thought o’ carryin’ a lamp into de parlor. Make yo’self comfortable, Sah, I’ll tell Miss Kitty an’ she’ll be down terec’ly.”
With a word of thanks Rodgers passed the old servant and entered the library. The light from the two oil lamps was supplemented by a cheerful fire in the brick chimney at the farther end of the room, and its cheerful glow did much to dispel the dreary atmosphere which prevailed.
Rodgers did not at once sit down. Instead he paused in the center of the library and gravely regarded the tea table and the throne-shaped chair where he had frequently seen Miss Susan Baird sitting when entertaining guests at tea. He had a retentive memory, and as his eyes roved about the library, he pieced out the scene of the discovery of the dead woman as described on the witness stand by Inspector Mitchell.
As far as Rodgers could judge, no change had been made in the room, except in the arrangement of the tea table. The soiled dishes and tea cups had been removed, the tea service cleaned and put back, and the fruit dish, of Royal Dresden china of ancient pattern, was empty. Forgetful of the passing time, he wandered about examining with keen attention the fine oil paintings of dead and gone Bairds, the camels’ hair shawls which had been converted into portières, the Persian rugs on the hardwood floor. What matter that all showed traces of wear and tear? The room was cleanliness personified.