the secretary, quite as positively. This deadlock was a peculiar feature of the situation. Both men could not be telling the truth, and, considering Morland’s greater reason for desiring that the great gift should not be made, perhaps it was not strange that many of the audience began to turn upon him the eye of suspicion.
Everybody now had testified, and the coroner began summing up.
“I have had no direct evidence,” he said, “that would tend to cast suspicion on any person. I think we must all admit that since the room was locked and barred on the inside, Mr. Van Wyck’s death was not a murder. I think the erratic mind of the deceased gives us reason to assume a sudden attack of insanity. I think we must agree that if it was suicide, there was no possible means or method, unless we accept the really clever suggestion of the icicle.”
At this point Mr. Markham interrupted! the coroner.
“I think we may discard the icicle theory,” he said, “as I have found the weapon with which the crime was committed. Here it is.”
Stepping forward, he laid on the table in front of the coroner a small, sharp implement partly covered with brownish stains.
The coroner looked at it as if he could scarcely believe his eyes. “What is it?” he said, picking it up gingerly.
“It is an implement used in embroidering,” said Mr. Markham. “It is called a stiletto, and it forms part of every lady’s sewing equipment.”
The audience were fairly breathless with suspense. Swayed by the slightest hint, they were quite ready to drop suspicion of Morland and turn it toward the women of the family.
“Where did you find this?” said the coroner.
“In Mrs. Van Wyck’s dressing-room,” returned the detective.
“Is it your property?” asked the coroner of Anne.
“Yes,” she replied, after a glance at the stiletto. “It belongs in my work-basket.”
“Can you account for these stains upon it?” pursued the coroner, and he showed far more agitation than did the woman he addressed.
“I cannot,” she replied coldly. “I have never used it except for embroidery purposes.”
Now, of course if Anne Van Wyck had used this implement for the purpose of killing her husband, she could scarcely be expected to say so. And so her flat denial carried little weight
“Where in the dressing-room was it found?” asked the coroner.
“Hidden beneath a pile of towels in a cupboard,” replied Mr. Markham.
Whereupon the coroner inquired of Doctor Mason if the stiletto would have been a possible instrument of death.
“Mr. Van Wyck was stabbed with some weapon about that size,” replied the doctor gravely.
“And are these brownish stains upon it stains of blood?”
“That I cannot tell without subjecting them to analysis,” returned the doctor, but his hearers were impressed with the thought that he was endeavoring by delay to give Anne the benefit of the doubt.
“I think,” went on the coroner, in a hesitating manner, “that this piece of evidence must change the trend of our inquiries. Mrs. Van Wyck, did you or did you not put this stiletto in the place where it was found?”
“I did not,” replied Anne quietly.
“Do you know who did place it there?”
“I do not”
“Of course,” said the coroner, “the discovery of this instrument in this condition does not necessarily implicate its owner. Other hands might have used it and secreted it where it was found, perhaps with the intent of diverting suspicion. Who has the care of your dressing-room, Mrs. Van Wyck?”
“My maid, Jeannette.”
“Let her be summoned,” the coroner ordered. But Jeannette was nowhere to be found. She had disappeared, no one knew when or where. To the minds of most present, this looked suspicious. It was easily to be seen that the villagers were quite ready to denounce Anne Van Wyck as the slayer of her own husband. Anne had never been popular with the village people. Clever and highly strung as she was, she had found little in common with their ordinary and, to her, stupid pursuits. And now they were quite ready to believe the worst of her.
Anne herself looked supercilious and scornful. “I have no notion where my maid has gone,” she stated, “but I am positive that she is in no way implicated in this tragedy. She may have gone on some errand, and will doubtless return soon. I am entirely sure she can give you no information or enlightenment as to the crime that has been committed in this house, any more than I can.”
“And you can tell us nothing, Mrs. Van Wyck, more than we know already?” the coroner said, floundering a little in the complexity of his emotions.
“No,” replied Anne quietly.
The coroner fidgeted uneasily, and then said, “It is impossible to carry matters further without the testimony of the maid, Jeannette. I therefore declare this inquest adjourned for a few days, by which time I trust we may have further and more definite evidence.”
The jury, to a man, looked decidedly relieved, but it was a rather disappointed audience that filed slowly out of the house. To my mind, the coroner’s reason for adjourning the inquest was a pretext. I think he felt sure that if the jury had had to decide then and there, they must have accused Anne of the murder. And the evidence was certainly incriminating. While I felt, with every fibre of my being, the wish and desire to hold Anne innocent, yet there was something terribly convincing of guilt in the fact of that hidden stiletto. But again, the absurdity of it! How was it humanly possible, even granting that Anne had used the fatal instrument, for her to leave the study so securely locked and bolted on the inside? But that was the old question, and the one to which no one had an answer. But how I hoped the answer might incriminate anybody but Anne!
That evening was a strange one. As an experience of my life, I shall never forget it The members of the household all seemed to be at cross purposes. There were a great many people about, with the result that the Van Wycks and their house guests chose the music room for themselves and denied the others admission.
In the library were gathered the coroner and Mr. Markham in confab with Mr. Van Wyck’s lawyers, and some directors of the companies with which he had been identified.
The ceremony of dinner had been a great strain on us all, but now that we were by ourselves, the tension was loosened a little.
Anne was verging on the hysterical. She had borne up so long and so bravely against the onslaughts of Mrs. Carstairs that a reaction had set in, and she seemed to lose all her defensive courage. As a result, we all tried to comfort or cheer her, and avoided referring to painful subjects.
Archer was gentle and deferential, but he said little to her, and seemed to content himself with, watching her closely.
Barbara and Morland were in quarrelsome mood, a condition not unusual with them. Of course it was necessary they should make certain arrangements, pertaining to the funeral of their father, and naturally they deferred to Anne in many matters. But Anne listlessly
