“Mr. Wyndham,” he began, “did you telephone into town that Mr. Brainard was ill and would spend the night in this house?”
“No,” answered Wyndham, and his tone was of the curtest.
“To your knowledge did anyone else in this house telephone Brainard’s condition to friends in Washington?”
“I did not hear of it if they did.”
“Then no one, outside this household, knew that Brainard was spending the night here?”
Wyndham moved impatiently. “You forget Mrs. Porter had other dinner guests last night,” he said stiffly. “They knew of his illness and his presence here.”
“True,” broke in the coroner. “Mrs. Porter has already furnished me with their names, and—” But before he could add more Thorne interposed with a question.
“How about Brainard’s chauffeur?”
“He had none, but drove his own car,” responded Wyndham.
“Is that still here?”