“He is the same man.” Mrs. Parsons pushed aside the vase of flowers standing on the table so that she could obtain an unobstructed view of Mitchell and the papers lying in front of him. “Strange, is it not, that Major Leigh Wallace and Edward Rodgers should both be in Washington and both interested in the Baird murder?”
“Why strange?” Inspector Mitchell was not to be drawn. “All Washington is interested in Miss Susan Baird’s death.”
“But not with such a personal interest.” Mrs. Parsons’ voice was honey sweet. “Edward Rodgers has promised to aid in tracing her murderer. Also, Colonel Holt was Kitty Baird’s uncle.”
“What—then she is the other relative you alluded to—?”
“Yes.” She paused. “Colonel Holt died intestate and his property should have been divided equally between his nearest of kin, Kitty Baird, and her cousin, Leigh Wallace.”
“But the forged will gave the entire fortune to Wallace,” Mitchell spoke slowly.
“Which he has squandered,” she added. “Leigh Wallace is cursed with an inherited vice—a craze for gambling.”
Inspector Mitchell raised his head and regarded Mrs. Parsons. The silence lasted fully a minute, then picking up the three papers he replaced them in the worn envelope and pocketed it.
“You have given me valuable information,” he said, rising. “It will not be necessary to call in a private detective. Good morning, Mrs. Parsons.”