“And none taken, Jones,” answered Penfield. “So Mr. Burnham is of a passionate nature, is he?” Not waiting for the butler’s fervid “Yes,” he walked out of the bedroom, Jones just behind him. In the hall he stopped. “Which way is Mr. Maynard’s bedroom?”
“Right down the hall, sir, to your right,” and Jones led the way past the open door of Mrs. Burnham’s bedroom, which adjoined that of her husband, to the room he had indicated. Stepping inside he switched on the electric light and Coroner Penfield looked into the room for a moment only.
“Cozy quarters,” he remarked. “And who has the room across the way?”
“Miss Evelyn.” Jones stepped to one side to permit Penfield to return to the hall.
“And that room?” Penfield indicated a doorway at the back of the hall, a little to one side.
“That leads to Mrs. Burnham’s boudoir, sir, in the octagon wing of the house; leastways, that is what they call it,” explained Jones. His voice gained in impressiveness; he would have made his mark as a lecturer and the house was his hobby. “There’s a lot of surprises about this house, sir; it’s bigger than most folks think.”
“I have been over the house.” Coroner Penfield paused by the staircase. “I thought Mr. Maynard had a room on the third floor.”
“So he did, sir.” Jones led the way down the stairs. “But Mrs. Ward had his things moved into the spare bedroom downstairs, as Mrs. Burnham feared it was too hot for him on the third floor; not but what he might have been more comfortable with a suite of rooms all to himself upstairs,” added Jones, stopping respectfully by the entrance to the drawing room. “Will you go in and wait for Mr. Burnham? I heard he would be back early.”
Penfield considered a moment, then moved toward the front door.
“I will be around in the morning,” he said. “Please tell Miss Preston I desire to see her.”