Thornton frowned and turned a troubled countenance toward Eleanor, who nodded reassuringly as she rose to her feet, stepped back to Douglas’ side, and, leaning on the back of the chair she had just vacated, addressed the Secretary.
“I am a young girl, Mr. Secretary,” she began, “and, living alone as I do, I have been forced on numerous occasions to use my own judgment. It would have been better, perhaps, had I spoken of certain events before this, but I was so alarmed by the position in which I found myself placed that I foolishly held my tongue. I had hoped that certain facts would not become public. Those facts Mr. Winthrop has maliciously distorted. I have been guilty of a blunder, not a crime.”
“I would be most happy to believe you, Miss Thornton,” said the Secretary gravely; “but to probe this matter to the bottom I must ask certain questions.”
“Which I will gladly answer.”
“Did Senator Carew call on you on Monday night?”
“He did, reaching my house about nine-thirty, just before the rain commenced.”
“Did anyone else know that he was there?”
“Only my Japanese butler, Fugi, who admitted him. My cousin, Mrs. Truxton, who is spending the winter with me, had gone to bed immediately after dinner.”
“Was Annette in the house?” asked Brett quickly.
“No, it was her evening out. She returned shortly after the Senator left.”