“No, sir. I just wasn’t myself!”
“Thank you, Susan.” Landis glanced at Bernard who shook his head. “All right, now step this way, please.”
Susan followed him timidly out of the room. He left her in the sergeant’s charge with orders not to talk, found his way to the kitchen and asked Helen Stokes to stay there and wait his summons. The cook he brought with him to the drawing-room where Bernard was waiting.
Mabel Harley was a stoutish, capable-looking woman with a kind face and steady, rather faded blue eyes. She looked worried and anxious. Landis soon set her at her ease.
Questions similar to those asked Susan developed that Cook had been in the kitchen from a quarter to six until long after the murder. During that time she had seen, in the order named, Mr. Joel, who came in the back door and went up the back stairs; Susan; Stimson; Helen; her own husband; and Miss Mount who came down the back way to speak about the salted almonds. Harley had just stuck his head in and Miss Mount had been in the kitchen for only a minute or so. Helen had gone up to Mrs. Graham about a quarter past seven. Mr. Stimson and Susan were in and out.
She had never seen the Japanese bow in the library nor anywhere else, had heard or seen no one shooting on the third floor except on Tuesday, had not closed the back door of the library nor locked the door at the end of the wing. She had seen no stranger about the premises and had no idea who killed her employer.
Landis harked back a little.
“What time did Mr. Joel come in the back door?” he asked.
“A little before six, I think, sir. He stopped at the kitchen door and said he was tired and was going to bed.”
“Something on his mind, perhaps,” Bernard suggested.