THE SECRETARY

What was Orton going to say? How many of last night's events had come under his notice? I had no recollection of having seen him until he had turned on the study lights, yet Ruth had been manifestly uneasy and had thought that she had heard his step in the hall. Where had he been when Ruth left the drawing-room and how close was he to the scene of the tragedy when the shot was fired? But all this was idle conjecture. I would know soon enough what I had to fear from this man, and as I caught the ugly gleam in his prominent eyes when he turned them for an instant my way I realized that he would do his very best to hurt me. My peremptory manner last night would be paid back in full, measure for measure, and he was cunning enough to guess that he could wound me most through Ruth.

"You are Mr. Darwin's secretary?" the coroner was saying when I was once more cognizant of my surroundings.

"I am his private secretary. I have charge of his business affairs," with a trace of condescension beneath his apparent humility.

"Where do you discharge your duties?"

"At his office in Broad Street. I attend to his correspondence."

"Is it not odd that a man of Mr. Darwin's—er—wealth—should introduce his secretary on an equal footing with his family?"

The secretary squirmed and the man beside me grinned delightedly through his forest of red whiskers.

"I am a distant connection of the family," answered Orton. "I—er—he asked me to make my home with him a month ago."

"And how long have you been in his employ?"

"About two months."

"You are then acquainted with his private affairs also?"

"Not at all, only those relating to his business."

"And what is this business you are always talking about?" inquired the coroner ironically. In his opinion rich men evidently had no need of occupation.

"He was director of the Darwin Bank," answered Orton, discomfited. "He also played on the market."

"A speculator, eh? Did he also play fast and loose in his domestic affairs?" continued the coroner with a shrewdness I should not have given him credit for.

For a moment Orton was puzzled, then a great light dawned upon him and he laughed feebly. "Yes, he was not on good terms with his wife, if that is what you mean. He was not what you would call a model husband."

"What an infernal idiot that fellow is," said the man beside me with a sneer, but I was too much concerned with what Orton would reveal to take any interest in side comments.

"You testified last night that you had heard the shot?" remarked the coroner, changing the subject abruptly. "Where were you at that particular time?"

"On the stairs. I had been doing some work in the little room beyond the study and on my way to my room had paused on the lower step to count the strokes of the hall clock. Just as I finished counting twelve the shot rang out," answered Orton very humbly, as if anxious to efface his personality from the minds of his listeners.

"What did you do then?"

"My first impulse was to flee up the stairs. I am a timid man and dislike the sight of bloodshed. But sometime previously I had heard a step in the hall and looking out had seen Mrs. Darwin enter the study. Fearing that it was she who was hurt I followed Mr. Davies into the study."

He wiped his brow with a trembling hand and I mentally decided that he had had a bad minute concocting that piece of testimony—for one part of it at least was a decided fabrication. Ruth had been in the study only a minute and had not gone in some time before, as he tried to imply.

"Mr. Davies entered ahead of you? Where did he come from?" queried the coroner.

"He was in the drawing-room, which is nearer the study than the stairs, and so he reached the room first, but he paused at the door for a minute and I was right behind him when he spoke to Mrs. Darwin."

"What did he say to Mrs. Darwin?"

"He cried out, 'Ruth!' and she dropped something shiny from her hand and fainted. While Mr. Davies picked her up I turned on the light and noticed for the first time that Mr. Darwin was dead."

Another prevarication! He could no more have helped knowing who had been shot than I if he was right behind me as he said!

"The study was in darkness then?"

"No. There was a small lamp lighted on the table but it did not give sufficient light to distinguish clearly the rest of the room."

"And when you turned on the light how many persons were in the room?"

"Just Mr. Davies, Mrs. Darwin, and I."

"Might there not have been someone else who left by the windows before you lighted the room?"

"No, for I locked the windows at Mr. Darwin's request a half-hour before, and they were still locked when the police arrived."

"Could anyone have escaped by the door then?"

"Impossible, for I should have seen that person. Besides, Mr. Davies was at the door almost immediately after the shot was fired."

"You said Mrs. Darwin had something shiny in her hand. Were you able to tell what it was?"

"Yes, it was a pistol," he said, with a triumphant look in my direction.

"That's a lie!" cried a man's voice, and Ruth's chauffeur detached himself from the group of servants to shake a finger beneath Orton's nose. "It's a lie, you miserable little worm! Take it back or I'll wring your neck!"

I think he would have done it, too, had not a policeman thrust him out into the hall, where he remained to curse Orton roundly before he moved away. A servant's loyalty to a sweet and gentle mistress, and I determined it should not go unrewarded, for nowadays such loyalty is rare.

The murmur of approval that followed this act showing in what odium the secretary was held by the servants, made the coroner a little doubtful of his man and more than ever anxious that his statement be properly substantiated.

"Have you any reason to suspect Mrs. Darwin other than the fact that she held the pistol in her hand?" he asked after due deliberation.

"She knew that Mr. Darwin kept a pistol in the drawer of this table and she had quarreled with him an hour and a half before," replied Orton with a triumphant expression on his pale face.

"She quarreled with him, you say? Tell me all you know about it."

"Mr. Darwin was away for dinner and I believe he returned about ten-thirty, but of this I cannot be absolutely sure, since he has a key of his own and I was in the study with the door closed."

"What were you doing in the study?" interrupted the coroner.

"I was answering some letters which Mr. Darwin had left for me," replied Orton.

"Mason testified that the study was usually kept locked," continued the coroner. "Have you also a duplicate key?"

"No, I have no key. He told me he would leave the door open for me and he unlocked it before he left the house," returned Orton, quietly.

"Go on with your story."

"At ten-thirty Mr. Darwin entered the study and told me to call Mrs. Darwin," resumed Orton. "She, as you know, answered the summons. At first they talked in low tones, but presently from their raised voices I knew that they were quarreling and quarreling bitterly, for I heard Mr. Darwin threaten to do something or other to Mr. Davies. Then Mrs. Darwin opened the door and rushed upstairs and Mr. Darwin called me to him. He said that he was expecting a visitor but wished me to watch Mrs. Darwin's movements and, when he summoned me, to report them to him. After which he closed and locked the door. It was then that I heard Mrs. Darwin telling her maid to make haste. I hurried to the back stairs and followed Annie to the garage where I heard her instructions to the chauffeur. Coming back to the house I hung around the darkened hall and while I waited I heard voices in the study, but I was unable to distinguish whose they were. Then Mrs. Darwin came downstairs and I drew back into the little room next the study to await developments. She lighted the drawing-room and about eleven-twenty-five she opened the front door, admitted Mr. Davies, locked the door, and led him into the drawing-room. It must have been about five minutes later that Mr. Darwin called me to the study and asked for my report. He was seated in that chair leaning back with his pen in his hand and in just the same position as we found him when he had been shot. I told him what I had seen and he laughed and clapped his hands softly as if something tickled his fancy."

"'So we've a broker in the house, eh?' he said. 'He should know how to play fast and loose, eh? I'll make him useful, this broker lover of our stainless Ruth!'"

Orton got no further. It was more than flesh and blood could endure to sit and hear him repeat that odious man's remarks in that softly insinuating voice. "Stop!" I cried, springing to my feet. "Your honor, I protest against such things being dragged into this court of inquiry!"

"That will do, Mr. Davies," said the coroner stiffly. But I believe he feared to antagonize me too far, for he said to Orton, "You need not repeat Mr. Darwin's conversation."

Orton bowed obsequiously in deference to his superior. Ugh, how I despised him!

"It was then that he told me to lock the windows and he was laughing when I left the room," finished Orton.

"Do you know what occasioned the quarrel between the husband and wife?" suddenly inquired the inquisitive juror.

"It was a love-letter that Mrs. Darwin had written to Mr. Davies," said Orton.

I think the coroner was afraid he was going to divulge its contents, for he interposed hurriedly, "Did anyone else know that the pistol was kept in this table drawer?"

"No, only Mrs. Darwin and myself."

"Is this the pistol in question?" pointing to the revolver.

"Yes. It belongs to Mr. Darwin and has his initials engraved on the handle."

The coroner nodded in confirmation. "Do you recognize this handkerchief?" holding up a dainty lace-covered bit of cambric partly stained with blood.

"I have seen Mrs. Darwin carry one like it."

"Are you and Mrs. Darwin the only members of the household?"

"We were last night. Mrs. Darwin's father has been away for two weeks on a vacation, and Lee Darwin, Mr. Darwin's nephew, left the house yesterday morning."

"What do you mean?"

"He had a dispute with his uncle and I overheard Mr. Darwin tell Lee to get out and stay out, which he promptly did. He went to the Yale Club and has not been back since."

"That is all, Mr. Orton. Gregory," called the coroner.

"Yes, sir," answered that worthy.

"Go to the Yale Club and inquire for Mr. Lee Darwin. If possible bring him here."

"Very good, sir."

When the policeman had gone the coroner turned to me. "Now, Mr. Davies, we will hear what you have to say."

CORROBORATIVE EVIDENCE

How I wished that I had been born blind, or failing that, that I had been a thousand miles away when that fatal shot was fired! A coward's attitude? Perhaps, but for the life of me at that moment I could not see how my testimony could be anything but damaging to the girl I loved.

"Mr. Davies, will you tell the jury what happened last night," said the coroner.

Very calmly I told them all that had happened, saying that I was a life-long friend of Ruth, that she had asked me to come to the house, and that in the course of conversation I had urged her to get me a paper which was of value to me. She entered the study and almost immediately the shot rang out. I ran to the door and found her standing beside her husband. The shock of his death caused her to faint and I carried her from the room.

When I was through, the coroner stroked his chin reflectively. I was hoping he would dismiss me without further parley, but instead he began his cross-examination.

"Mr. Davies, did you not think it strange that she should send for you so late at night?" he commenced, after a slight pause.

"Under the circumstances, no," I replied.

"Under what circumstances?"

"In the interview between Mr. and Mrs. Darwin, of which you have heard, Mr. Darwin threatened to ruin me. Mrs. Darwin sent for me because she desired to warn me against her husband."

I saw several of the jurymen nudging each other and even the coroner's brows shot up a trifle, but I decided that it was far better to strengthen the case against her than to have them construing all manner of scandal from my refusal to answer.

"Could she not have written to warn you, just as well?" pursued the coroner.

"She believed that I would take no notice of such a warning unless it were given in person," I replied.

"Would not the next morning have been ample time?" caustically.

"I can't presume to say," I shrugged.

"You were acquainted with Mrs. Darwin before her marriage. Was it merely in the capacity of her friend?" He spoke diffidently, as if anxious not to offend my sensibilities.

I debated the point and finally came to the conclusion that there was no object in airing the family skeleton, more particularly as it might get Dick into trouble with the authorities and thus set at naught Ruth's dearly bought sacrifice.

I bowed therefore and replied quietly, "Yes, your honor, I was merely her friend."

The coroner gave me a swift glance from beneath half-closed lids as he fingered a sheet of paper thoughtfully.

"You said that Mrs. Darwin entered the study to reclaim a paper which was of value to you, did you not?" he inquired.

"Yes," I answered, briefly.

"Is this the paper?" he continued in a peculiar tone, holding up the letter that Ruth had described to me.

"I have no idea," I retorted.

"What do you mean by that?" he continued sharply.

"Mrs. Darwin simply told me that in the study-table drawer was a letter which her husband could use against me. I urged her to retrieve it. Never having seen it I cannot possibly say whether the paper in your hand is the one or not," I returned, quietly.

For a moment he was nonplussed, and then he asked: "You heard Mr. Orton say it was a love-letter written to you by Mrs. Darwin?"

"Oh, yes, but I didn't hear you ask him how he knew this. No, nor did I hear him tell you that he fished the torn scraps of Mrs. Darwin's private correspondence from her basket and pieced it together for her husband's delectation," I replied, scornfully, glad of the chance to let the jury know the truth concerning that letter.

I saw the look of disgust with which various of the members of the jury favored Orton, and even the coroner was impressed to the point of laying the letter aside and resuming his attack upon a different line.

"When you sent Mrs. Darwin into the study you were both aware, of course, of Mr. Darwin's presence in that room?"

"No. Mr. Darwin had told his wife he was going out and we had no idea there was anyone in the study."

"But finding him there unexpectedly might she not have shot him to secure the letter?" pursued the relentless voice.

I shook my head and replied abruptly (I have learned since that he had no right to ask that question, but I had no knowledge of legal technicalities): "Impossible. She was in the study only a minute before the shot was fired. This I am positive of, Mr. Orton's evidence to the contrary. She had left the door slightly ajar and I remember listening for sounds from the study just before the clock struck twelve. I heard no voices. Besides, the study was in total darkness——"

"You are sure the study was in darkness?" he interrupted with an odd look.

"Yes, I think I can safely say it was."

"It has been proven that Mr. Darwin was writing just before he was shot. Do you think he was in the habit of writing in the dark?" he inquired sarcastically.

I reddened. The detective's statement had slipped my mind, but I refused to be ridiculed into changing my opinion. I could have staked my life upon it that the study was dark.

"Of course I was not in the room itself," I returned stiffly, "but by the hesitating way in which Mrs. Darwin entered and from the fact that no glow came through the doorway as she opened the door, I judged that the study was in darkness."

"The lamp on this table could never give sufficient light to be seen from that doorway, Mr. Davies," remarked the coroner.

I shook my head impatiently. "Nevertheless, I am convinced the study was in darkness," I reiterated stubbornly.

Seeing that he was getting nowhere he dropped the point, and asked: "Did you also see the pistol in Mrs. Darwin's hand?"

There was no use in quibbling since the fact was known, and I had no idea of what Ruth herself would say on this point, so I replied in the affirmative, adding: "As I stood in the doorway I could see that Mr. Darwin had been shot as plainly as I could see that Mrs. Darwin was standing beside his chair."

"I thought you said the study was in darkness?"

"It was, but the lamp was lighted as I sprang for the door."

"Then you think there may have been someone else in the room?"

"Yes."

"Could you see the door of the study from your position in the drawing-room?"

"Yes." What was he getting at, anyway?

"So that you could see whether anyone came out of the study, or entered it after Mrs. Darwin?"

"Yes."

"Did anyone come out or go in?"

"No."

"You heard the evidence concerning the windows?"

"Yes."

"Do you still persist in saying there was someone else in the study?"

So that was it. He was trying to trap me into making a contradictory statement to pay up for my stubbornness concerning the study. But I had no intention of being trapped by him.

"I cannot be absolutely positive, your honor," I said, "but of this I am certain. I had no knowledge of Mr. Orton's presence until he lighted the study. Whether he was already in the room when Mrs. Darwin went in, or whether he entered behind me, I am not prepared to say."

"That's not so!" cried Orton, his face more pallid than ever. "I was out in the hall, your honor, I was out in the hall!"

The detective said something to him in an undertone, whereupon he subsided tremblingly, but it was very plain to be seen that the coroner, who had not been previously impressed with the man and who had since come to regard him in the light of a sycophant, began to be suspicious of the secretary, eyeing him with great disfavor, wondering, no doubt, whether he were as innocent as he gave out. I began to breathe more freely for Ruth, but at the coroner's next words my hopes were dashed once more.

"Knowing that Mrs. Darwin was in the study, why did you give the police the impression last night that she had heard the shot from upstairs?"

"She was ill. I didn't want her disturbed," I explained.

"In other words, you feared to tell the truth," he commented.

I made no answer. Protestations would only have made a bad matter worse.

"Mr. Davies, you know, of course, that if a man dies intestate, his wife inherits his property?"

I nodded, but was decidedly puzzled.

"Mr. Darwin died intestate," he continued quietly, watching to note the effect upon me.

"I don't understand you," I said, and I spoke the truth. I was out of my depth, for he surely couldn't suppose that I was intimately acquainted with Philip Darwin's personal affairs! Either that, or else he possessed information of which I had no knowledge. It proved to be the latter case.

"In the waste basket we found partially burned scraps of what was presumably a will, Mr. Davies, and here," holding up a heavy paper, "is what Mr. Darwin was at work upon when he was shot. It is a will, Mr. Davies, or rather the beginning of one, and it is not in Mrs. Darwin's favor."

I made no comment, but I could see what he was driving at. This was another powerful factor to be added to Ruth's motive in taking her husband's life.

"This will is in favor of Cora Manning. Did you ever hear of her, Mr. Davies?" continued the coroner.

"I can't say that I have."

"Do you also identify this handkerchief?"

"No, I have never seen it before to my knowledge."

"It might be Mrs. Darwin's?"

"I don't know."

"That is all at present. Mr. Cunningham, please."

THE LAWYER

At the coroner's words the man beside me arose and walked to the front of the room. He was about Philip Darwin's build and height, but his face was fleshier, and he wore a full, square beard of a peculiar mottled red, the same shade as his hair, as though both had been liberally sprinkled with gray. He was very fastidiously dressed, I might say almost foppishly so, even to the point of wearing spats and an eyeglass, which he was continually screwing into his eye as he spoke.

"You are Mr. Darwin's lawyer?" asked the coroner.

"Yes. You will pardon me if I reply rather briefly. I have a bad throat to-day and find it trying to speak at length," he apologized in a husky voice.

"Certainly, certainly. This is a mere formality," responded the coroner affably, whereat the lawyer smiled, rather sardonically, I thought.

"Mr. Cunningham, do you know whether the will that was destroyed was in Mrs. Darwin's favor?"

"It was."

"Are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes. I made it out when Mr. Darwin was married."

"Do you know whether Mr. Darwin keeps any of his valuable papers in that safe?"

"I am sure he keeps nothing of value in it. His papers are in his vault at the bank."

"Have you none, then?"

The lawyer shook his head and replaced his eyeglass with great deliberation. "Two nights ago Mr. Darwin removed the last of his securities from my office," he said with evident difficulty.

"The last of his securities? Do you mean that he had been gradually removing them from your care?"

This time the lawyer nodded.

"For what purpose?" asked the coroner.

"I do not know," was the candid answer. "He was rather secretive. I surmised he needed them in his dealings in Wall Street."

"He did not actually say so?"

"No. He told me nothing."

"Since he was so secretive, might he not have put some of his securities in that safe?"

"No, I don't think so. However, you might have it opened—to satisfy yourself," with a slight, rather mocking accent on the last word.

"I think it just as well," responded the coroner, briskly. "Mr. Cunningham, you don't by any chance happen to know the combination?"

"No, I do not."

"Jones, can you open that safe?" inquired the coroner.

"I think so." The detective rose and advanced down the long room to the safe, where he knelt down, the better to hear the fall of the tumblers. While he twirled the knob of the dial now this way and now that, Mr. Cunningham, as if in no way interested, moved to the window, where he stood looking out with his back to the room. Now it happened that I was sitting so that I could see his reflection in the window-pane, and I was surprised to note the look of diabolical joy that overspread his countenance as he rubbed his hands together in unholy glee, for it seemed to me that such levity was decidedly out of place at this particular time.

But now my attention was diverted, for the detective straightened to his full height and opened the safe door, which swung back on noiseless hinges. As the detective darted within the cavernous depths, the lawyer turned toward the room once more with a remnant of his smile on his lips as he stroked his beard with a well-kept white hand. And then it flashed across me where I had seen him before. It was on the Knickerbocker Roof, late one evening in September, where I was supping with my partner after the show. Cunningham had come in with a couple of chorus girls and my partner had mentioned that he was a gay old boy, to which I had agreed after watching him as he stroked his beard and made love to the girls. I had not seen him since that night, roof gardens not being much in my line, and so, of course, I had failed to remember him until that gesture which seemed habitual with him recalled him to my mind.

"Nothing, your honor," reported the detective, emerging with a crestfallen face. "Nothing but a few receipted tailor's bills, an empty cash box and a stoneless ring."

"A what?" The coroner screwed himself around in his chair and the jury strained backward as Jones spoke.

Mr. Cunningham involuntarily put out his hand for the bauble as the detective passed him, but Jones shook his head with a smile, as he returned to the front of the room and placed the objects on the table before the coroner.

Coroner Graves examined with meticulous care the sheaf of bills, the empty box. Then he put them aside and turned his attention to the stoneless ring.

"Odd, very odd," he said. "Why should a man like Mr. Darwin preserve a stoneless ring?"

"I think I can explain that," said the lawyer, coming forward very leisurely. "May I look at it?" He held out his hand and the coroner placed the ring within it. "Ah, yes, it is the same." He handed it back with a courteous air, but I could not help feeling that somehow he was merely amused by the attempts of the coroner to solve the problem. But it must have been my own overwrought fancy, for his voice was sinister enough through its throatiness, as he said:

"My client, as perhaps you know, was very fond of the ladies. Before his marriage he met a very beautiful young lady—her name does not matter, it was not her own, for she was an actress, I believe—of whom he became very fond. In fact, he told me he was going to engage himself to her, and showed me that ring which he had bought her. It held within that now broken setting a magnificent blue-white diamond. If you will look within you will see the inscription which Mr. Darwin had engraved upon it."

He paused, as much to rest his voice as to give the coroner the opportunity of reading aloud for the benefit of the jury the sentiment which graced the ring: "To my one love—D."

"I remonstrated with him, told him she would take the ring and leave him high and dry, but he would not listen and bestowed it upon her," resumed the lawyer. "A week later he received a letter from her enclosing that." He waved his hand toward the golden circlet contemptuously. "She had kept the diamond and returned him his ring. She left the country and he never heard from her again. Why he kept that empty shell I don't know. Perhaps he put it in the safe and forgot it was there."

"Where did you find it, Jones?" asked the coroner.

"In one corner of the top shelf. I only discovered it because as I passed my hand over the shelf the broken prong scratched me," replied Jones.

The coroner nodded. "A thin bit of gold not worth considering," he said, adding as the lawyer was about to return to his seat: "Mr. Cunningham, do you know Mr. Darwin's nephew?"

"Yes, I have met him several times," responded the lawyer.

"Was there not a will in his favor before the wedding?"

"Yes, but it was destroyed when the new will was made."

"Did Mr. Darwin mention to you recently that he intended changing his will?"

"No."

"Have you ever heard of Cora Manning?"

"No."

"Yet Mr. Darwin had written her name on the will he was making at the time he was shot, Mr. Cunningham."

"Indeed? This is all news to me, sir. My client, as perhaps you have heard, was exceedingly peculiar. He did not confide all his affairs to me. In fact, he often employed more than one lawyer."

The coroner raised his brows. "Well, he certainly was peculiar if he did that. One lawyer ought to be enough for any sane man."

"Quite right," responded Mr. Cunningham with an odd smile. "But perhaps my client wasn't quite sane."

LEE DARWIN

The coroner's retort, if he made one, was lost to me, for at this moment loud voices were heard in the hall and a burly policeman came hurriedly into the room.

"What is it, Riley?" asked the coroner in an annoyed tone.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sorr, but there's a young man out here and a divil of a strong young man he is, yer honor," said the policeman.

"What does he want?"

"Shure an' he says he's Lee Darwin, but Oi'm on to their little tricks. An' shure by the looks of him I'd say he was one of thim fresh cub reporters that worries the life out of us huntin' for noos."

"Reporter be hanged!" exclaimed a wrathful voice, as a young man strode into the room.

Here the details of the scene before him, the frowning coroner, the amazed jury, the dignified lawyer, sank into his consciousness and he stopped abruptly a few feet from the table.

"What is the meaning of all this?" he inquired, but in a more subdued tone. "Mr. Cunningham, what are all these people doing here?"

Before the lawyer could answer him, he cried out suddenly, "My uncle! What has happened to him!"

"Mr. Darwin was shot last night," answered the coroner.

"Shot? You—you mean murdered?" in a horrified whisper.

The coroner nodded, then said briskly: "I am glad you are here. There are several questions I should like to ask you."

"I am at your service."

The defiant lift of the head as he spoke, and the fiery look he cast around the room as if challenging us to contradict him, were so like the actions of a creature at bay that I examined him more attentively. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, dark, young man, with a pair of snapping black eyes that roamed restlessly about the room during his entire examination. It was evident that he was laboring under some strong emotion, for much as he controlled his voice and strove to appear calm the muscles of his face betrayed him by their involuntary twitching, and his hands were clenched convulsively at his sides.

"You had a misunderstanding with your uncle yesterday morning. Is my information correct?"

No answer, only a savage look in Orton's direction, as though he divined the source of the coroner's knowledge of his affairs.

"I should like an answer, if you please," with some asperity.

The young man laughed harshly. "I'd call it a quarrel," he said.

"A quarrel, eh? What was the subject of this quarrel?"

A slight pause while he mentally debated the wisdom of replying, then with a sudden abandonment of his former brief manner, he said quickly: "I objected to the way my uncle treated his wife. He took umbrage at what he called my impertinence and told me to clear out. I did. It was none too congenial here."

"What do you mean by that last statement?"

"My uncle was always at dagger's points with his father-in-law."

"For what reason?"

"I do not know. I fancy, though, that it was something pretty strong that my uncle held over Mr. Trenton. I have heard him say things that had I been Mr. Trenton, instead of listening meekly, I'd have jumped up and knocked him down."

"What was Mr. Trenton's attitude toward your uncle?"

"He was always very pleasant to him, and never seemed to take offense at what my uncle said."

The coroner made a note on one of his many papers and then resumed his questions. "What brought you back this morning if you had left the house for good?"

"I came to get the rest of my belongings. I left rather suddenly yesterday."

"When did you last see your uncle?"

"In this study when I quarreled with him yesterday morning."

"Did you notice whether he was wearing a ring on the little finger of his left hand?"

Was it my fancy, or did he pale?

"My uncle never wore any rings," Lee Darwin answered.

"Yet the physician testified that a ring had been pulled off his finger."

"He wore none when I saw him last." How proudly, and it seemed to me how sadly, that was said.

"Mr. Darwin, did you ever see that handkerchief before?"

As the coroner held up the dainty trifle the young man started and with a quick indrawn breath he leaned closer to examine it. Then with a look of relief he straightened to his full height.

"No, I do not recognize it," he said.

"Whose did you think it was when I first held it up?" Again Coroner Graves surprised me by his astuteness.

"Why—why, Ruth's—Mrs. Darwin's," stammered the young man, somewhat taken aback.

"And it isn't hers?" persisted the coroner.

"No, I'm positive it isn't."

Certainly he was a young man after my own heart.

"Would you swear to that fact?" went on the coroner inexorably.

"Look here, do you think I'm lying to you?" demanded Lee Darwin, angrily.

"Would you swear to that fact?" repeated the coroner monotonously, taking no notice of the outbreak.

A dull red suffused the young man's dark face and his eyes smoldered as he glanced at the coroner. "I refuse to answer," he said, sullenly.

The coroner shrugged, having won the battle by creating just the impression that he desired, namely that the handkerchief was Ruth's and that for some reason Lee was trying to protect her. I swore softly below my breath at the blunder young Darwin had committed in becoming angered, for though I knew he could possibly have no motive for shielding Ruth, having heard none of the previous evidence, he had yet managed to strengthen the case against her by his strange attitude.

"Mr. Darwin, did you ever hear of Cora Manning?" suddenly inquired the coroner.

Lee Darwin had himself better in hand this time, for his face did not change from its sullen aspect, but he could not help clenching his closed hand tighter until the knuckles showed white through the flesh. That action alone told me that he knew the woman whose name was on Philip Darwin's unfinished will. It also told me that he would deny it. So I was not surprised when he said, a little stiffly, as though he found it hard to speak at all:

"No, I do not know her."

"When you first recognized my official capacity what made you think something had happened to your uncle?"

For a moment he seemed nonplussed, then he answered readily enough, "I suppose it was because I was entering his house and the thought of its master and our last meeting was uppermost in my mind."

"You are sure that it wasn't because you knew beforehand that he was dead?"

I thought he was going to faint, so pale did he become, but he rallied instantly and said, haughtily, "Do you presume to intimate that I killed my uncle?"

"Not at all, since you could not possibly have been in the room at the time," responded the coroner. "I merely wished to learn, whether when you were standing outside the house late last night, you saw what occurred in the study."

This statement created an immense sensation. Everyone looked at everyone else and then at Lee Darwin, who stood before the coroner with blazing eyes and head flung high.

"I came here to get my belongings and not to be questioned about an affair of which I know nothing!" he exclaimed angrily. "I refuse to answer further."

The coroner shrugged. "Of course it is not really important. You can tell your story in court when you have been arrested as an accessory after the fact."

"I know nothing about it, I tell you!" cried Darwin in exasperation.

"Your footprints were found in the flower-bed, outside the study window. What were you doing there at that time of night?"

Lee Darwin laughed outright, whether with relief or hysteria I don't know, though I incline to the former.

"Your honor, your minions are not as clever as they seem to think. I made those footprints yesterday morning when I left the house through the study window. I turned around and stood there a moment to shake my fist at my uncle," he said, sarcastically.

"Just a moment, Mr. Darwin. Mason," called the coroner.

The old butler came forward timidly. "Did you see Mr. Lee Darwin leave the house yesterday morning?" inquired the coroner.

"No, sir. I knew he was in the study after breakfast but I did not notice whether he came out," he answered, peering anxiously at the young man.

"That will do. Mr. Orton, please."

The secretary rose and took the butler's place, and as though he had anticipated the question he said eagerly, "Mr. Lee Darwin left the house by the window yesterday morning."

It struck me he was trying to curry favor with young Darwin by the way he spoke and fawned upon him.

"You are positive of this?" said the coroner.

"Yes, Mr. Lee was just leaving the house when his uncle said something to him and he followed him into the study. I was waiting for Mr. Darwin in the hall, and after the quarrel, I entered the study at Mr. Darwin's summons in time to see Mr. Lee leave by the window and then turn back again, as he said."

"Now that the word of a gentleman has been vouched for by that of a miserable spy, I trust you will permit me to go to my apartments." The sneer that accompanied the words made Orton wince, but the coroner remained imperturbed. He granted the permission with a wave of the hand.

"Would it be asking too much to allow me to see my uncle's body?" inquired the young man, pausing in the doorway.

"Unfortunately your uncle has been removed to the undertaker's," responded the coroner affably. "If you care to call on them——"

With a gesture of disgust the young man left the room and the coroner was human enough to enjoy his advantage after his own discomfiture at young Darwin's hands.

And now only Ruth remained to be questioned. Would he tell me or Orton to summon her? To my surprise he called Cunningham to him and after a whispered consultation the lawyer left the room and I heard him ascending the stairs.

This unexpected move the coroner explained in a few curt words. "Under the circumstances Mrs. Darwin is entitled to counsel," he said. "Mr. Cunningham has kindly consented to act in that capacity this afternoon."

Had the case against her progressed to the point where she needed legal advice? Then, indeed I had nothing to hope for from the interview which was now about to take place.

THE VERDICT

A few moments later Cunningham returned alone, and presently I heard Ruth's step upon the stair. I arose and as she entered the room I hastened to her and led her to a chair, giving her a reassuring smile as I did so. She looked so little, and so tired, so in need of comfort that it seemed a sacrilege to question her. As for believing her guilty of murder, that was too preposterous!

But then the coroner was not in love with her, and he had his duty to perform. I will give him credit for this, that as he looked into her sweet, gentle face his duty became none too pleasant for him and he conversed with a stranger who had entered the room before he again took up his burden of office. When he did it was to say:

"Mr. Ames, the finger-print expert, has a word to say before we can pass verdict on this case."

Before Ames could speak, Cunningham held up his hand.

"I would like you to hear what Mrs. Darwin has to say first before you attempt to actually incriminate her," he said.

At his words Ruth turned and glanced at him sharply, with a puzzled expression on her face which I could not account for, as she stared at him uncomprehendingly, but as the full meaning of his words dawned upon her, she turned her terrified eyes in my direction.

"Carlton," she said, and she raised her right hand solemnly, as though I were the judge before whom she was taking an oath, "I am innocent of any crime. In God's name, tell me you do not believe me guilty!"

She caught my hand and drew me down so that she could see my face.

"Ruth," I replied—it cost me an effort but for her sake I strove to speak quietly—"when I found you in the study I was startled, but never once have I believed you guilty, and now I know that you are innocent."

She released my hand and settled back in her chair with a sigh of relief. As long as I knew her innocent what mattered what anyone thought, was her attitude. But, alas, it was not I but the jury she would have to convince.

"Mrs. Darwin, I should like very much to have your version of the events of last night," said the coroner, and his voice was very gentle as he addressed her.

"Ruth," I interposed quickly, "be careful what you say." I was in mortal dread lest she incriminate herself beyond redemption, and yet I knew her to be innocent! Explain the paradox as best you may. I could not.

"Well meant, but ill-advised," said Mr. Cunningham. "Your best plan, Mrs. Darwin, is complete frankness."

Again that strange puzzled look on Ruth's face as she turned toward him, then as if his words found an echo in her own heart, she looked once more toward me and said simply, "Yes, Carlton, why shouldn't I tell him all since I am innocent?"

I groaned and mentally anathematized the coroner for his choice of counsel. I was powerless to help her in the face of her guileless attitude and evident inability to realize the danger of her position.

Very quietly and very candidly she told the coroner all that had occurred that fateful night, most of which was already known to those present in the room, the only new evidence being her account of what took place after she entered the study.

"The study was dark and as I left the door only barely ajar and the hall was dim, it was impossible to see any objects in the room. I knew however about where the table was located and I groped my way to it, and found the drawer. It was closed and I had to pull quite hard to open it. As I did so I thought I heard someone breathe quite close to me. I was paralyzed with fright, but as moment after moment passed and I heard no further sound, I decided I was mistaken and slowly put my hand in the drawer and felt around for the letter that I had come to get. Just as my hand closed around it I heard again that sound. Oh, it was horrible! Like someone trying to breathe who couldn't!"

She broke off and hid her face in her trembling little hands, and at my suggestion Mason brought her a glass of water. When she had sipped it she thanked him with a sweet smile and I saw the old man hastily wipe away a tear as he departed. I am not sure but that I did the same myself, as Ruth resumed her narrative in a voice not quite so steady as before.

"I snatched my hand from the drawer and had taken but two swift steps away from the table, as I thought, when there was a sudden deafening roar. I stood stock-still, unable to move, and when I did finally take a step I trod on something hard. Mechanically, I stooped and picked it up. It was then that the lamp lighted and I saw Phil lying there—dead—almost beside me. I was stunned and stood like one stricken until I heard Carlton's voice. I had no idea what I had picked up until that moment, but when I saw what it was and what Carlton was thinking, I cried out in horror—and fainted. That's all I know," she ended, faintly.

I don't think they really believed her. The skeptical smile on the coroner's face was reflected on the countenances of the jury. It was an ingenious account but there was entirely too much that was still obscure.

"Why did you not light the study instead of groping in the dark?" asked the coroner.

"Because I knew that Mr. Orton was spying upon me, because I saw him in the hall as I entered, and did not wish him to follow and see what I was doing," she answered quietly, thereby drawing the noose tighter about her own neck by providing with a perfectly good alibi the only other person who could possibly have been in the room at the time!

But she was ignorant of their suspicions and failed to see the look of relief that crossed the secretary's pallid face.

"Mrs. Darwin, do you recognize this pistol?"

"Yes. It is Phil's. It's the one I picked up."

The coroner scratched his head in perplexity. Either she was innocent or she was a magnificent actress, for only in those two instances could she answer these questions with so much directness and sincerity. I could see that he inclined toward the latter assumption for his tone grew harsher as he said abruptly: "You were not on good terms with your husband. Did you know that he was making a new will when he was shot?"

Ruth opened her eyes wide in astonishment. "Why, how could I know what he was doing when I did not know he was at home?" she asked naïvely.

"Do you know anyone by the name of Cora Manning?" pursued the coroner.

"Cora—Manning? No." Her voice trembled slightly as she pronounced the name.

"You are sure?"

"I do not know her," repeated Ruth firmly.

"She is the lady whose name is on the unfinished will. Evidently your husband must have thought a good deal of her for he had torn up his old will and was apparently going to leave everything to her."

Ruth drew herself up proudly. "Excuse me, sir, but my husband's affairs were his own. I take no interest in them whatsoever."

"Not even to the extent of losing several millions?" spoke up the juror who seemed always to have so much to say.

But Ruth did not deign to answer him. Instead she addressed the coroner. "By a legal agreement entered into at the time of our marriage my husband was free to dispose of his wealth as he saw fit."

If her voice held a tinge of bitterness who can blame her?

"As you saw fit, since his murder gives it all to you," continued the irrepressible juror.

"Your honor, I protest against such insinuations," I cried, for Cunningham seemed to have fallen asleep.

"I don't understand you," faltered Ruth, her eyes growing dark as they traveled over the stern, set faces of the jury. Then her hand fluttered involuntarily to her throat. "I don't understand you," she said again.

As the juror opened his mouth to reply, the coroner silenced him with a gesture. "Kindly permit me to conduct this investigation," he said curtly, then to Ruth, "Mrs. Darwin, was your husband in the habit of wearing rings?"

"I never saw him wear any," she answered. It was plain she was puzzled by his question.

"Yet he might have done so last night?"

"I suppose so."

"You didn't happen to remove it, did you?"

"Most certainly not," she said, highly insulted by the implication.

"Your honor, may I make a suggestion?" Cunningham awoke suddenly to the exigencies of the situation.

"Certainly, Mr. Cunningham," responded the coroner graciously.

"It has occurred to me that perhaps Mr. Darwin had in a moment of sentiment slipped that stoneless ring on his finger, and then had trouble in removing it. Of course it is only a suggestion," apologetically.

"No doubt it was just as you say," answered the coroner. "After all, the ring has nothing to do with the actual murder. Thank you, Mr. Cunningham."

As the lawyer resumed his seat with that sardonic smile upon his lips, the coroner picked up the handkerchief. "Is this yours, Mrs. Darwin?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"May I see that handkerchief that you are holding so tightly in your hand?"

Without a word she passed the bit of cambric to him and he held it up beside the blood-stained handkerchief. They were exactly the same, texture, pattern, and design!

"Well?" The coroner laid the two articles upon the table and bent a flashing look upon her.

"I don't understand how it can be just like mine when it doesn't belong to me," she said in a frightened voice. "Phil bought it for me at the church bazaar—just after we were married. He—he only bought me one."

"Wasn't it strange—his buying only one?"

"No—no. I wouldn't let him get me any more. I—I didn't want him to buy me anything at all."

"Then since it is quite evident that you did not love Philip Darwin, will you explain why you married him at all?"

"Ruth," I said, warningly, and this time she heeded my advice.

"I can't discuss my private affairs, sir. They have nothing to do with—with Phil's death, and they are my own," she said with troubled dignity.

"Do you realize that your silence will militate against you?"

"I can't help it, sir," she answered with tears in her eyes.

"Just one thing more. What is your father's present address?"

"Daddy's address? Surely you can't think—but he wasn't here last night!" she cried in terror.

"I know. It is merely a formality," replied the coroner, in a soothing voice.

"Shall I tell him, Carlton?" she asked me, ignoring her counsel.

"Yes, I suppose you had better," I returned.

"He is staying with Mrs. Bailey at Tarrytown."

"Thank you, Mrs. Darwin. If you will remain where you are, please, we will now hear from Mr. Ames," said the coroner.

The finger-print expert stepped forward. "My evidence is of the briefest," he said. "I have examined the pistol and have taken an impression of the finger-prints upon the handle. I have the enlargements with me and I should like to compare them with a set made by Mrs. Darwin. If you please."

He extended an inked pad toward Ruth and showed her how to make the impressions that he desired. Then followed silence while he compared them with the enlargements. Then with a brisk nod he passed the plates to the jury.

"Well, Mr. Ames?" asked the coroner.

"Finger-prints, as you know, are infallible evidence," said the expert. "The finger-prints on the handle of the pistol are the same as those made by Mrs. Darwin here in your presence and there are no other prints of any kind upon the pistol. Therefore I do not hesitate to say that the only person who handled that revolver last night was Mrs. Darwin."

The expert sat down, and satisfied that the chain of evidence was complete the coroner ordered the jury to leave the room and arrive at a decision. We had not long to wait. No sooner had they filed out than they were back again, nor do I think that anyone was surprised when they found that the deceased had come to his death by a pistol shot fired at the hands of his wife, Ruth Darwin.

"Carlton, do you still believe in me?" she asked dully.