was dead, but I did not touch her, and, not knowing what else to do, I cried out for help."
"And turned on the lights?"
"I pushed several electric buttons, not knowing which were lights and which bells; my principal idea was to arouse the inmates of the house at once."
"Who first appeared in answer to your call?"
"Miss Dupuy came running downstairs at once, followed by Miss Van Norman's maid."
"And then you pointed to the paper that lay on the table near Miss Van Norman's hand."
"Yes; I could not speak, and I thought that would tell Miss Dupuy that Miss Van Norman had taken her own life."
"You thought, then, that Miss Van Norman wrote the message?"
"I thought so then—and I think so now."
This, of course, produced a sensation, but it was only evidenced by a deeper silence on the part of the startled audience.
"But Miss Dupuy asserts that she wrote it," said the coroner.
To this Schuyler Carleton merely gave a slight bow of his handsome head, but it said as plainly as words that his belief was not altered by Miss Dupuy's assertion.
"Granting for the moment, then," went on Mr. Benson, "that Miss Van Norman did write it, is the message intelligible to you?"
"Intelligible, yes;" said Carleton, "but, as I have said before, inexplicable."
This ambiguous speech meant little to most of the listeners, but it seemed to give Robert Fessenden food for thought, and he looked at Carleton with a new wonder in his eyes.
"Mr. Carleton," said the coroner, with a note of gravity in his voice, "I think it my duty to tell you that your own interests require you to state the nature of your errand to this house last night."
"I decline to do so."
"Then, will you state as exactly as you can the hour at which you entered the front door?"
"I don't know precisely. But Miss Dupuy has testified that she came downstairs in response to my call at half-past eleven. I came into the house a—a few moments before."
"That is all," said the coroner abruptly. "Mr. Hunt, if you please."
The man from headquarters, who had guarded the present room through the night, came in from the doorway where he had been standing.
"Will you tell what you know concerning Mr. Carleton's entrance last night?" said the coroner, briefly.
"I was on guard in the present room from nine o'clock on," said Mr. Hunt. "Of course I was on the watch-out for anything unusual, and alert to hear any sound. I heard the company go away at ten o'clock, I heard most of the people in the house go to their rooms right after that. I heard and I also saw Miss Dupuy go down to the library after that, and return to her room about half-past ten. I noticed all these things because that is my business, but they made no special impression on me, as they were but the natural proceedings of the people who belonged here. Of course I was only on the lookout for intruders. I heard the sound of a latch-key and I heard the front door open at exactly quarter after eleven. I stepped out into the hall, and, looking downstairs, I saw Mr. Carleton enter. I also saw Miss Dupuy in the upper hall looking over the banister. She, too, must have seen Mr. Carleton. But as all of this was none of my business, and as nobody had entered who hadn't a right to, I simply returned to my post. At half-past eleven I heard Mr. Carleton's cry, and saw the lights go up all over the house. Anything more, sir?"
"Not at present, Mr. Hunt. Miss Dupuy, did you hear Mr. Carleton come in?"
Cicely Dupuy turned an angry face toward Mr. Hunt and fairly glared at the mild-mannered man. She waited a moment before answering the coroner's question, and then as if with a sudden resolve she spoke a sharp, quick "Yes."
"And that was at quarter after eleven?"
"It was later," declared Cicely. "For Mr. Carleton told you himself that he went directly into the library as soon as he came into the house, and as I heard his cry at half-past eleven he must have entered only a few moments before."
Schuyler Carleton stared at Cicely, and she returned his gaze.
His face was absolutely inscrutable, a pallid mask, that might have concealed emotion of any sort. But there was a suggestion of fear in the strange eyes, as they gazed at Cicely, and though it was quickly suppressed it had been noted by those most interested.
The girl looked straight at him, with determination written in every line of her face. It was quite evident to the onlookers that a mental message was passing between these two.
"You are sure, Mr. Hunt, that your statement as to the time is correct?" said the coroner, turning again to him.
"Perfectly sure, sir. It is my business to be sure of the time."
"Mr. Carleton," said Mr. Benson, "there is an apparent discrepancy here, which it is advisable for you to explain. If you came into this house at quarter after eleven, and rang the bells for help at half-past eleven, what were you doing in the meantime?"
It was out at last. The coroner's question, though quietly put, was equivalent to an accusation. Every eye in the room was turned toward Carleton, and every ear waited in suspense for his reply.
At last the answer came. The dazed, uncertain look had returned to Carleton's face and his voice sounded mechanical, like that of an automaton, as he replied, "I decline to say."
"I think, Mr. Carleton, you can scarcely realize the gravity of the moment, or the mistake you are making in refusing to answer this question."
"I have nothing to say," repeated Carleton, and his pallor changed to a faint, angry flush of red.
"I am sorry," said Mr. Benson gently. He seemed to have lost his pompous manner in his genuine anxiety for his witness, and he looked sorrowfully at Carleton's impassive, yet stubborn face.
"As so much hinges on the question of who wrote that paper," he resumed, "I will make a test now that ought to convince us all. Miss Dupuy, you say that you wrote it, I believe."
"I did, yes, sir," said Cicely, stammering a little now, though she had been calm enough a few minutes before.
"Then you know the words on the paper,—by rote?"
"Yes, sir," said Cicely, uncertain of where this was leading.
"I will ask you, then, to take this paper and pencil, your own pencil and write the same words in the same way once more."
"Oh, don't ask me to do that!" implored Cicely, clasping her hands and looking very distressed.
"I not only ask you, but I direct you to do it, and do it at once."
An attendant handed pencil and paper to Cicely, and, after a glance at Carleton, who did not meet it, she began to write.
Though evidently agitated, she wrote clearly and evenly, and the paper she handed to Coroner Benson a moment later was practically an exact duplicate of the one found on the library table.
"It
