Mitchell eyed her intently. Was it candor which prompted the direct denial or duplicity? She appeared unconscious of his steady gaze, her attention apparently centered on the flickering fire, and her hands, clasped together, rested idly in her lap. Mitchell's profession had made him a close student of human nature and as he studied her face, partly turned from him, he concluded that Kitty did not lack strength of character and will power, whatever her faults might be. Was her air of relaxation, of almost dumb inertia, a cloak to hide high-strung, quivering nerves? If he could but shake her composure, he might gain some key to the mystery of her aunt's murder. Mitchell cleared his throat as he unobtrusively hitched his chair around to obtain a more favorable angle from which to gauge her expression. "Had your aunt a large correspondence?" he asked. Kitty shook her head. "Aunt Susan abominated letter-writing," she replied. "My godfather, Mr. Craige, attended to her few business correspondents and I answered any invitations that came to us." "Had you any relations living outside of Washington?" he asked. "A few very distant cousins." She shrugged her shoulders. "My aunt did not encourage intercourse with them." "Their names, please?" Mitchell pulled out a pencil and notebook and thumbed its pages until he found a blank space. "A. J. Beekman of Detroit." Kitty watched him in some amusement. "Then there was rather a large family of Smiths in Georgia--I'm sorry I can't be more definite. Aunt Susan, as I said before, never cultivated her relatives." "Did she actively dislike them?" Kitty straightened up and regarded him. "I don't catch your meaning?" "My meaning is clear." Mitchell spoke slowly, deliberately. "Did your aunt actively dislike Major Leigh Wallace because of his relationship?" "His relationship?" echoed Kitty in bewilderment. "He is no relation." "I beg pardon," with a sarcastic smile. "I happen to know that Leigh Wallace is your cousin." "Then your knowledge is greater than mine." Kitty curbed her quick temper with an effort and added more quietly, "Whoever told you that was misinformed." "I think not." Mitchell consulted his notebook before continuing. "Colonel Marcus Holt of San Francisco, was your uncle, was he not?" "Yes. My mother, Louise Holt, was his sister." Kitty slipped her arms out of her coat which she had kept on for warmth. The fire was drawing nicely and for the first time she was conscious of the heat it generated. "What prompts your interest in old Colonel Holt? I assure you he died long before Aunt Susan." There was a touch of mockery in her voice and Mitchell smiled grimly. "I am coming to my point," he said. "Holt's nephew is Major Leigh Wallace." Kitty sat bolt upright with such suddenness that Mouchette nearly lost her balance. With an offended air, the cat jumped to the floor and crept under the nearest chair. "What!" exclaimed Kitty. "Are you sure?"