lucille’s prompt arrival drew a pleased look from coroner penfield, which quickly changed to one of admiration. she had taken more than ordinary pains with her toilet and her mirror had told her, five minutes before, that she was justified by the result. her name had figured in too many social events to be unknown to the reporters and they one and all favored her with close attention.
“what relation are you to miss anne meredith, miss hull?” asked penfield, after she had answered a number of questions.
“we are second cousins,” she replied. her voice did not carry very well and curtis moved his chair nearer the center table. “my father, colonel julian hull of washington, was a first cousin of john meredith and,” she added, her voice deepening, “his lifelong friend.”
penfield scanned his memorandum pad. “mr. hollister testified, miss hull, that you were one of the witnesses at the signing of the prenuptial agreement in favor of miss meredith and doctor curtis and of the codicil to meredith’s will—”
“not of the codicil,” she broke in quickly. “only of the agreement. as mr. hollister pointed out, i could not witness a document under which i stood to benefit.”
“ah! then you were aware last night of the contents of the codicil,” ejaculated penfield, and lucille flushed warmly.
“what business is that of yours?” she demanded; her voice had a shrill note to it generally lacking. penfield replied to her question with another.
“what became of the codicil and the agreement?” he asked.
lucille raised her eyebrows. “how should i know?” she shrugged her shoulders. “the last i saw of them, they were on cousin john’s bed.”
penfield regarded her attentively. “mr. hollister also stated that as you were leaving, after signing the document, mr. meredith called you back. please tell the jury what he said to you.”
“it was a personal conversation,” she commenced heatedly. “it had nothing to do—”
“we are the best judge of that,” broke in penfield. “according to the evidence thus far adduced this afternoon, you are the last person known to have seen your cousin alive.” lucille changed color. “therefore, the conversation you had with him then, however trivial it may appear, may have some bearing on the tragedy and may aid the police in solving the mystery surrounding his death.”
“i assure you,” lucille spoke so low that curtis again edged nearer so as not to miss what she said, “we talked only of my cousin anne and her prospective marriage. i am very outspoken.” lucille’s beautiful eyes flashed spiritedly and her color rose. “i told cousin john i thought that it was abominable of him—to”—she stammered and stopped, then added weakly—“to make a cat’s-paw of anne to further his plans.”
“and what were his plans?” asked penfield swiftly.
“i—it was a figure of speech.” lucille’s high color faded, leaving her deadly white. “i was indignant and did not choose my words.”
penfield studied her in silence. “then we are to understand that you knew nothing of mr. meredith’s so-called ‘plans’?” he asked dryly.
“yes.”
penfield stroked his chin thoughtfully. “what answer did mr. meredith make to you?” he inquired a minute later.
again lucille flushed. “he told me to hold my tongue,” she replied. at the bitterness in her voice curtis’ lips twitched. “and then i went to bed.”
“were you disturbed during the night by any sound in the house?” asked penfield.
“no.” the curtness of her tone brought a sharp look from penfield, but he contented himself with a slight bow and gesture of dismissal as he said:
“thank you, miss hull.”
on leaving the witness chair lucille hesitated at sight of curtis, then with an inclination of her head, of which he was entirely oblivious, she hurried from the library, conscious that several of the reporters were edging her way in quest of an interview.
“inspector mitchell of the central office, will be the next witness,” penfield announced, and there was a stir of interest as the well-known police official advanced to the center table. the coroner’s questions were brief and to the point.
“have you made a thorough search for the two documents signed by john meredith last night and last seen by mr. hollister and miss hull lying on his bed?” inquired penfield a few minutes later.
“i have, sir, but can find no trace of them,” responded mitchell.
“did you find any evidence that a burglar might have broken into the house last night or early this morning?”
“no, sir.”
penfield shuffled his papers about until he found one that he wished.
“on examining the body of john meredith as it lay in the hall this morning, did you find near it the weapon with which the wound in his throat was made?” asked penfield.
mitchell shook his head. “we have searched everywhere but can find no weapon of any kind,” he stated. “it is not in his bedroom where, judging from the bloodstains, the wound was inflicted, nor was it lying by the body, nor along the hall down which he staggered until he fell dead at the staircase.”
penfield laid down his pencil. “did you examine the body upon your arrival?” he asked.
“i did, sir.” mitchell paused and took an envelope out of his pocket. “mr. meredith was dressed only in his pajamas and was barefooted. there was nothing noticeable about the pajamas except that the jacket was unbuttoned about the throat and chest. caught around the second button i found these hairs.” mitchell leaned over the table and carefully shook some hairs on a paper pad. penfield as well as the members of the jury leaned forward to get a better look at them. mitchell enjoyed the interest he had aroused for a moment before adding: “the hairs are from a woman’s head and are chestnut in color.”
curtis, who had listened to mitchell’s statements with absorbed attention, started to his feet. the few hairs which he had taken from around that selfsame button were white. what, then, did inspector mitchell mean by declaring the hairs he had were chestnut? curtis made a step forward then halted, stopped by a sudden thought—he had asked fernando the color of the hairs and the filipino had declared they were white. suppose the lad had lied to him and they were chestnut after all? to be sightless—curtis bit his lip to keep back a groan; a second later he had mastered his feeling of helplessness. the question of color could be easily settled by handing what he had to coroner penfield. curtis pulled out his leather wallet and opened it. his search among its various compartments was unrewarded—the hairs were not there.
dazedly curtis resumed his seat and again turned his attention to what was going on in time to hear penfield address the next witness in the chair.
“doctor mayo, kindly inform the jury of the result of the autopsy,” he directed.
the deputy coroner held up an anatomical chart and as he spoke traced a red line to illustrate his meaning.
“meredith died as the result of a wound inflicted in his throat,” he stated. “the larynx was opened and one of the larger vessels severed. the wound,” he spoke slowly, deliberately, “could not have been self-inflicted.”
a dead silence followed his statement. the reporters sat with their pencils poised, their eyes fixed intently upon the scene being enacted before them. curtis, also, had hitched his chair around close to the table and sat forward resting his weight upon his cane.
“then in your opinion, doctor mayo,” penfield spoke with distinctness, “john meredith was murdered?”
“yes, sir; the autopsy proves that,” mayo hesitated. “if you wish further evidence to that end, the absence of a weapon furnishes it.”
“that is all, doctor.” the deputy coroner had started back to his seat when penfield stopped him. “please tell miss anne meredith that we require her presence here at once.”
the minutes dragged interminably to curtis as they waited for doctor mayo to return. suddenly the prolonged silence was broken by the pushing back of the folding doors and curtis heard a light tread follow doctor mayo’s heavier footsteps across the room to the center table. anne paused by the vacant witness chair.
“you sent for me?” she asked, looking questioningly at coroner penfield.
“yes, miss meredith. just a moment, please,” as she was about to seat herself. “doctor mayo will administer the oath.”
anne’s clear tones never faltered as she repeated the solemn words and curtis’ stern expression relaxed a little; there was no indication in her voice of hysteria, such as he feared might be the result of the strain she must have been under. again he longed for sight as he tried to visualize the scene, longed for a glimpse of anne, longed with a great longing for an opportunity to aid her should she require aid. surely his blindness had not cost him the privilege of serving a woman!
“miss meredith,” penfield’s usually harsh voice took a softer note as he studied the face before him. gowned entirely in white, the slender figure seemed an epitome of girlhood. her air of distinction, her small shapely head, whose fine outline was unaltered by the beautiful chestnut hair coiled about it, and the unwonted color which her unaccustomed prominence had brought forth, gave the final touch to what the coroner realized suddenly was actual beauty, and that of a high order. her half foreign, wholly quaint manner and her deep blue eyes were at variance, however, with the cold, haughty gaze which met his. penfield changed the words upon his lips. he had not expected to find such composure in so young a girl.
“miss meredith,” he began again, “have you seen your mother during the past two hours?”
“no,” she replied. “by your direction, i believe, we have kept to our own bedrooms and have not communicated with each other.”
penfield glanced down at his notes, then across at her. “were you aware that your uncle drew up and signed a prenuptial agreement settling fifty thousand dollars a year upon you and doctor curtis?”
a burning blush crimsoned anne’s face as her gaze rested for a second on curtis seated across the table from her.
“i was told so,” she answered, lowering her voice, but curtis caught the words.
“who told you of the document?” asked penfield. “your uncle?”
anne shook her head. “no.” she spoke with more of an effort. “i met mr. gerald armstrong as he was leaving the house last night and he told me.”
“and did he tell you also that mr. meredith had signed a codicil to his will revoking a bequest to you of one million dollars and giving it to your cousin, miss lucille hull?”
again anne nodded her head. “he did,” she said simply.
“miss meredith,” penfield spoke impressively, “where are those documents now?”
“i have no idea.” anne regarded him in grave surprise. penfield’s chagrin was manifest; his question had not shaken her composure. “i presume my uncle put them away safely.”
“they cannot be found,” replied penfield. “until they are located, miss meredith, you will receive the original bequest of one million dollars.” he paused, then added gravely, “you will thus be extremely wealthy without having to go through a marriage ceremony.”
again a burning blush covered anne’s cheeks and brow, but her eyes did not falter in their direct gaze at the coroner.
“you overstep your privilege,” she replied with gentle dignity. “my private affairs are certainly no concern of yours.”
penfield colored under his tan. “are you aware that your uncle was murdered?” he asked.
“murdered!” the horrified exclamation escaped anne as she reeled in her chair and then recovered herself. “murdered? no—impossible!”
“the result of the autopsy proves that he was murdered,” reiterated the coroner. “can you tell us of any one who bore him enmity?”
anne was conscious of a deadly faintness and she clutched the arms of her chair with a convulsive grip.
“no,” she faltered. “no.”
“think carefully,” advised penfield, viewing her emotion with satisfaction. was she at last unnerved?
“no.” the monosyllable rang out with greater clearness and curtis smiled, well pleased; she had gotten herself in hand again.
penfield changed his tactics. “when did you last see your uncle alive?” he asked.
“after dinner last night,” she replied. her pause was infinitesimal.
“when did you first learn that he was dead?”
anne stared at him as the silence lengthened. so swiftly that none guessed his intention, coroner penfield reached across the table and took up a sheet of paper on which lay a few hairs.
“these,” he said, “match your hair in color, miss meredith.”
anne looked at the paper and her expression changed to one of horror.
“where”—she could scarcely articulate—“where did you find them?”
“they were found by inspector mitchell wound around the second button on mr. meredith’s jacket.” he stopped, then added smoothly, “inspector mitchell left several hairs still around the button, and we watched you cleverly remove them before our eyes when the body was being carried past your door on a stretcher.”
anne never took her gaze from his face. the coroner was the first to speak. “come, miss meredith, suppose you tell us where you were when john meredith was murdered.”
twice anne tried to speak, but no sound passed her dry lips.
“i—i”—again she stopped, then gathering courage in the stillness—“i have nothing to say.”
for one long minute coroner penfield regarded her. the silence in the big library grew oppressive. somehow curtis found himself upon his feet and by anne’s side.
“did your hair,” went on penfield remorselessly, “get caught around that jacket button when you pressed your ear against meredith’s chest to find out if his heart was still beating?”
as one stricken anne gazed dumbly at the coroner. curtis’ deep voice cut the silence.
“miss meredith has a right to be represented by counsel,” he said. “you exceed the authority vested in this inquest, coroner penfield.”
penfield frowned, then smiled.
“the inquest stands adjourned until thursday afternoon,” he announced. stepping forward, he checked the rush of the newspaper men. “not now, gentlemen; you cannot interview miss meredith,” with a side glance at the tableau near him. “doctor curtis will give you the name of her counsel.”
