Ferguson walked over and sat down in the chair.
“I presume you and Major Richards were absorbed in conversation,” he grumbled, and not giving her an opportunity to answer, continued, “But you both had a good view of the boudoir door leading into the hall, through which every one has to enter. Any one entering last night would have had to come directly in your line of vision. Was the door open or closed?”
“Open.”
“All the way open?” he persisted.
“The door stood just as it is now,” declared Judith, after studying it a moment. A look outside convinced Ferguson that a person in the hall would be unable to see what was transpiring in the boudoir at the angle at which the door stood ajar.
“A person could enter without having to push it farther open,” he announced. “Does the door squeak?” Springing to his feet he answered his own question by moving the door to and fro. “Nary a squeak,” he commented, and drawing out his memorandum book sat down near Judith. “Now, madam, was it your custom to keep the jewelry box on your dressing table?”
“When I was in my bedroom or in here, yes,” replied Judith. “At other times I kept it in the drawer of my bureau.”
“Was the key in the lock of the box?”
“Yes.” Observing his smile, Judith frowned. “I do not usually leave the key in the lock, but my husband called to me and I joined him here, leaving the box standing on my dressing table.”
“I see.” Ferguson stared reflectively at her for a few seconds. “Ever had anything stolen before?”