“My husband, Major Richards.”
“Any one else?”
“No.”
Ferguson blinked at her solemnly for a minute, then rising, stepped to the bedroom door and glanced inside.
“This is the only entrance to your bedroom,” he remarked, turning to the silent girl. “How could a thief enter your room while you and your husband were here, and you remain unaware of it?”
“I am sure I don’t know.” Judith shook her head in bewilderment. “I lay awake nearly all night puzzling over the enigma.”
Ferguson surveyed the boudoir from every angle before again addressing her.
“Where were you sitting?” he inquired.
Judith crossed the boudoir toward the fireplace and wheeled the morris chair forward until it stood in the exact spot of the night before.
“I sat here,” she explained, “and my husband was perched on the chair arm.”