“Outside the house,” sullenly.
“Outside is too vague, sir,” persisted Mitchell. “Did you meet Miss Anne close by the servants’ wing of the house and underneath the window of Gretchen’s bedroom?”
“That’s no business of yours!” Armstrong got to his feet in haste, an angry light in his eyes.
“I want an answer, Mr. Armstrong.”
“You won’t get it,” with sneering emphasis. “If I have anything more to say it will be to your superiors and in the presence of my lawyer.”
“If you are going to take that attitude, Mr. Armstrong,” Mitchell rose also, “I will see that you are served with a subpoena as a material witness to attend the next hearing of the inquest—”
A startled look crossed Armstrong’s face, then disappeared.
“Colonel Hull told me that the inquest was over—”
“For yesterday afternoon.” Mitchell pocketed his notebook and fountain pen. “The next hearing will be on Thursday afternoon at two o’clock at the District Morgue. I advise you not to forget to attend,” with significant emphasis. “One more question, where did you spend Sunday night—all of Sunday night?”
Armstrong’s bright color faded, leaving his sallow complexion a mottled yellow.