Leaving her there, he returned to the hall and struck another summons on the lacquered gongs. As promptly as before, Miss Mount appeared on the balcony above.
“Is Miss Isabelle Harrison well enough to give us a moment or two?” he inquired.
“I suppose it is quite necessary?”
“I’m afraid it is, Miss Mount.”
“Very well. I’ll send her down.”
Isabelle, when she had joined them in the drawing-room, proved a strong contrast to her sister. She was heavier and neither so pretty nor so graceful. She had blue eyes and reddish hair like her father and the same selfish, self-indulgent look about her mouth, somewhat modified by her sex. Youth, however, lent her a certain voluminous and healthy appeal, of which a daring black evening gown made the most, in contrast with her smooth white skin. She sat down helplessly and faced them with swollen, lackluster eyes, now dry of tears.
Landis proceeded to put to her exactly the same questions he had asked her sister.
She had not locked the door at the end of the wing nor closed the door into the library. She had not noticed the library door when she came in that evening but felt sure it had been open as usual or she would have noticed it. She knew nothing about the Japanese bow, had not seen anything nor anyone strange about the house recently, had no idea who killed her poor daddy. Some outside enemy, she supposed.
“Why someone from outside?” asked Landis again.
“Well, nobody in the house could have done it.”