“That will do, Susanne.” Mrs. Meredith rose before her dressing table. “Tell Miss Anne that I am waiting for her.”
Susanne started at her stern tone; the French maid’s nerves were not under their usual excellent control. Before she could execute the order Anne appeared in the doorway.
“What is it, mother?” she asked. “Why did you send me word to dress at once?”
Mrs. Meredith paused to pick up a half sheet of note paper which she had tossed on her breakfast tray twenty minutes before.
“This is from Coroner Penfield,” she explained. “He has had the effrontery to demand your presence and mine in the library—at once.”
Anne shrank back toward the boudoir, with a quick hunted look behind her. It seemed to Susanne’s observant eyes that she sought shelter—
“Why does Coroner Penfield wish to see us?” asked Anne.
“Heaven knows!” with a contemptuous shrug of her shoulders. “He states in his note that Inspector Mitchell is with him.”
Anne drew a long breath. “Suppose we go down at once, mother,” she said. “Anything is better than—than—suspense.”
“Very well.” Mrs. Meredith picked up a scented handkerchief. “Close my door, Susanne, and see that no one enters the room. Come, Anne.”