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“Have you any idea where Senator Carew dined and spent the evening?”

“No,” came the emphatic answer. “He asked me to tell my mother not to expect him at dinner, that was all.”

“Ah, indeed. Have you any idea when the Senator left the house?”

“No, I left him here, and went up to my room, where I stayed until dinner was announced.”

“Where is your room?”

“Third floor, back.”

“Who has rooms on the next floor?”

“Senator Carew’s bedroom, bath, and sitting-room are over this part of the house; Miss Cynthia Carew occupies the suite of rooms across the hall from his rooms. My mother and I have the third floor to ourselves.” Winthrop plucked nervously at the desk pad. “Talking is dry work; won’t you and Mr. Hunter join me, I’ll ring for Joshua.”

“One moment,” Brett’s tone was peremptory and, with an unmistakable scowl, Winthrop sank down in his chair and leaned heavily on the desk. “What members of the family were in the house yesterday afternoon?”

Winthrop thought for a moment before replying. “No one but my uncle and myself,” he said reluctantly. “My mother and Miss Carew went out early to some bridge party, and did not return until just before dinner.”