Kitty glanced at him in surprise before moving the panel back and forth. Inspector Mitchell was right; it moved with ease and totally without noise. When pushed to the farthest, the panel left an opening about eight inches square. "What do you think of that, Miss Baird?" inquired Mitchell. "I'm sure I don't know." Kitty's eyebrows drew together in a perplexed frown. "We never touched that panel; never had occasion to use it. This," laying her hand on the upper part of the Dutch door, "we frequently kept open in the summer as we get the southwestern breeze through it. We never use this door as a means of exit except to go into the garden." "You entered by it to-day upon your return," Mitchell remarked and Kitty favored him with a blank stare. "Were you watching me?" she asked with a touch of coldness. "I was waiting in the summer house," Mitchell explained, ignoring her manner. "No one answered the front bell and, as I wished very much to see you, I killed time by strolling through the garden. Then you don't generally use this entrance to the house?" "No." Kitty regarded him inquiringly, puzzled by his persistent questions on a trivial subject. "Only since Aunt Susan's death. The lock on this door is modern and the key a reasonable size to carry in my hand bag. Perhaps you recall the key to the front door?" she could not restrain a smile. "It is old-fashioned--" Mitchell nodded. "I recollect its size," he remarked dryly. "I found it in the key-hole of the front door on Monday morning, just before we discovered your aunt lying dead in this room. Haven't any idea how the key got there then, have you?" Kitty turned pale. "At the coroner's inquest I told all that I know of the circumstances surrounding my aunt's death." She faced him quickly. "Have _you_ made no discoveries bearing on the crime?" "Only those brought out at the inquest," he replied, with noncommittal brevity. "Come, Miss Baird, suppose we talk over some of the aspects of the case. I won't detain you very long." Taking her consent for granted, Inspector Mitchell wheeled forward an armchair and selected another for himself. Mouchette watched them both, then, rising stiffly, deserted her favorite spot near the hearth and perched herself in Kitty's lap, her loud purr testifying to her contentment as Kitty passed her hands over the soft gray fur. Kitty did not care to break the pause that followed. She was content to remain silent and await developments. Mitchell did not leave her long in doubt as to the direction his thoughts were tending. "Mr. Craige tells me that you have inherited a pretty fortune," he began. "A very pretty fortune, to be exact. Now, your aunt, if you'll excuse my directness, lived in, eh," he hesitated, "say, genteel poverty." Kitty nodded somberly. Would people never stop harping on her suddenly acquired wealth? "Where did your aunt get this money she left to you?" "I have no idea," she replied. "I am as ignorant on the subject as you are."