"Not a custom, certainly; but I did occasionally stay overnight with friends or with my cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Potter, in Washington," Kitty explained. "Aunt Susan was never afraid of being left alone in the house. And, of course, I was at my work all through the day." "And what is your work, Miss Baird?" "I am employed as a social secretary by Mrs. Amos Parsons," she replied, concisely. "I am with her from nine in the morning until four in the afternoon." "Only on week days?" "Yes. I have Sunday to myself." "And how did you spend last Sunday, Miss Baird?" "I went to church in the morning." "Alone?" "No. Major Leigh Wallace accompanied me." "Did Major Wallace return to your house with you?" "No." The curtly spoken monosyllable brought a sharp glance from the coroner, of which she appeared unaware. "At what hour did you reach your house, Miss Baird?" he asked. "After church--" she considered a moment. "To be exact, about a quarter of one." "Did you and your aunt lunch alone?" "Yes. We had no guests," briefly. "And what did you do after luncheon?" "It wasn't luncheon, it was dinner," she explained. "I went upstairs almost immediately after it was served, and changed my dress preparatory to going out." "When did you last see your aunt alive?" asked Penfield. "As I was leaving the house," Kitty spoke more hurriedly, "I looked into her bedroom and called out 'Good-by!'" "Miss Baird," Penfield let his eyeglasses dangle from their ribbon and stood up. "Was your aunt expecting guests at tea on Sunday afternoon?" "I am sure she was not," she replied. "Aunt Susan always asked me to arrange the tea table if she had invited any of her friends to come and see her. She was, eh, formal and insisted that her guests be given tea when they called." "Was it your aunt's custom to drink tea every afternoon whether she had guests or not?" "Oh, yes. She had a spirit lamp and a tea caddy in the library, and made tea for herself," Kitty responded. "But if any friends were coming she insisted always that the table be especially arranged--sandwiches--and all that," a trifle vaguely. Kitty was growing tired of answering questions which appeared to lead nowhere. Coroner Penfield picked up several sheets of paper and thumbed them over until he came to a penciled memorandum. "There were two sandwiches and some peaches on the tea table in front of your aunt," he remarked. "Who prepared those sandwiches?" For the second time Kitty colored hotly. "The sandwiches were left over from some I made on Saturday when Aunt Susan entertained Mrs. Amos Parsons at tea." "And the peaches--" questioned Penfield. "I don't know where Aunt Susan got the peaches," she said, with a quick shrug of her shoulders. "Probably Oscar brought them to her on Sunday morning when I was out. He knew her fondness for them." "Did you not always know what supplies you had in your larder?" "Why, no." With a lift of her eyebrows. "Oscar did the marketing."