"Not in words," dryly. "But my woman's intuition tells me ..." "Yes?" as she paused. "That Kathleen worships the ground he walks on." "Too bad." Foster sat back, looking troubled. "Too, too bad." "What's this? A deathbed repentance? _You_ introduced Miller in Washington," and the spinster's sharp eyes bored into him. Foster moved uncomfortably. "I am sincerely sorry," he mumbled. "I have been grossly deceived." "Humph!" Miss Kiametia moved closer to his side. "Go on--confession is good for the soul." "I can't tell you just now," was the disappointing rejoinder. "Who found Whitney in his studio this morning?" "I did; and a nice shock I had," with a shudder. "The antics in this house are deranging my nervous system. I can't even sleep." "How did you happen to be around at that hour?" "Rosa had a bad attack of indigestion after serving dinner, and I promised to look in and see how she was during the night. Just as I came out of her room I thought I heard groans and rushed upstairs; found the studio door open, and by aid of my electric torch, found Winslow lying on the floor." "Did you see anyone else in the room?" "No, I only had the light from the torch to guide me, and that is a very big room, with models and furniture standing around in odd spots." "Why didn't you turn on the electric lights?" impatiently. "Couldn't find the switch. I did press a button, the only one I could locate in my haste, and it brought Henry, who switched on the lights for me." "And afterward did you find any trace of papers' having been stolen? Drawers opened, or anything?" "I never looked to see." Foster sat back in bitter disappointment. "All I thought about was breaking the news of Winslow's condition to Minna and Kathleen, and getting a doctor. Henry attended to _that_; and I went downstairs, awoke Minna," she hesitated perceptibly, "Kathleen I found sitting in her bedroom--dressed." "What!" Foster shot her a swift glance. "Asleep?" "No. Just sitting there, apparently too dazed to realize my presence, let alone what I told her. Finally she grasped the news of her father's illness, and her grief was bitter." "Poor girl!" Miss Kiametia fingered her gown nervously. "You were in Baltimore when the newspapers published Spencer's will, and this afternoon Dr. McLane interrupted us," she began. "Is it really true that Sinclair Spencer left Kathleen a small fortune?" "Yes. On investigation, I find he held valuable stock, as well as improved real estate of known value." "Sinclair Spencer was a bad egg," said Miss Kiametia slowly. "It would have been like him to boast of his wealth to Kathleen, and by its power seek to influence her to accept him." "A man will do anything to win the woman he loves," said Foster, with a sidelong look of affection utterly lost on the spinster, who sat deep in thought. "A large legacy," she commented aloud. "It establishes a motive which I thought lacking before."