Kitabı oku: «The Gold Bag», sayfa 4

VI. THE GOLD BAG

“Is this yours?” asked Mr. Monroe, suddenly whisking into sight the gold-mesh bag.

Probably his intent had been to startle her, and thus catch her off her guard. If so, he succeeded, for the girl was certainly startled, if only at the suddenness of the query.

“N-no,” she stammered; “it’s—it’s not mine.”

“Are you sure?” the coroner went on, a little more gently, doubtless moved by her agitation.

“I’m—I’m quite sure. Where did you find it?”

“What size gloves do you wear, Miss Lloyd?”

“Number six.” She said this mechanically, as if thinking of something else, and her face was white.

“These are number six,” said the coroner, as he took a pair of gloves from the bag. “Think again, Miss Lloyd. Do you not own a gold-chain bag, such as this?”

“I have one something like that—or, rather, I did have one.”

“Ah! And what did you do with it?”

“I gave it to my maid, Elsa, some days ago.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I was tired of it, and as it was a trifle worn, I had ceased to care to carry it.”

“Is it not a somewhat expensive trinket to turn over to your maid?”

“No; they are not real gold. At least, I mean mine was not. It was gilt over silver, and cost only about twelve or fourteen dollars when new.”

“What did you usually carry in it?”

“What every woman carries in such a bag. Handkerchief, some small change, perhaps a vanity-box, gloves, tickets—whatever would be needed on an afternoon’s calling or shopping tour.”

“Miss Lloyd, you have enumerated almost exactly the articles in this bag.”

“Then that is a coincidence, for it is not my bag.”

The girl was entirely self-possessed again, and even a little aggressive.

I admit that I did not believe her statements. Of course I could not be sure she was telling untruths, but her sudden embarrassment at the first sight of the bag, and the way in which she regained her self-possession, made me doubt her clear conscience in the matter.

Parmalee, who had come over and sat beside me, whispered: “Striking coincidence, isn’t it?”

Although his sarcasm voiced my own thoughts, yet it irritated me horribly to hear him say it.

“But ninety-nine women out of a hundred would experience the same coincidence,” I returned.

“But the other ninety-eight weren’t in the house last night, and she was.”

At this moment Mrs. Pierce, whom I had suspected of feeling far deeper interest than she had so far shown, volunteered a remark.

“Of course that isn’t Florence’s bag,” she said; “if Florence had gone to her uncle’s office last evening, she would have been wearing her dinner gown, and certainly would not carry a street bag.”

“Is this a street bag?” inquired Mr. Monroe, looking with a masculine helplessness at the gilt bauble.

“Of course it is,” said Mrs. Pierce, who now that she had found her voice, seemed anxious to talk. “Nobody ever carries a bag like that in the house,—in the evening.”

“But,” began Parmalee, “such a thing might have occurred, if Miss Lloyd had had occasion to go to her uncle’s office with, we will say, papers or notes.”

Personally I thought this an absurd suggestion, but Mr. Monroe seemed to take it seriously.

“That might be,” he said, and I could see that momentarily the suspicions against Florence Lloyd were growing in force and were taking definite shape.

As I noted the expressions, on the various faces, I observed that only Mr. Philip Crawford and the jurors Hamilton and Porter seemed entirely in sympathy with the girl. The coroner, Parmalee, and even the lawyer, Randolph, seemed to be willing, almost eager for her to incriminate herself.

Gregory Hall, who should have been the most sympathetic of all, seemed the most coldly indifferent, and as for Mrs. Pierce, her actions were so erratic and uncertain, no one could tell what she thought.

“You are quite positive it is not your bag?” repeated the coroner once more.

“I’m positive it is not mine,” returned Miss Lloyd, without undue emphasis, but with an air of dismissing the subject.

“Is your maid present?” asked the coroner. “Let her be summoned.”

Elsa came forward, the pretty, timid young girl, of German effects, whom I had already noticed.

“Have you ever seen this bag before?” asked the coroner, holding it up before her.

“Yes, sir.”

“When?”

“This morning, sir. Lambert showed it to me, sir. He said he found it in Mr. Crawford’s office.”

The girl was very pale, and trembled pitiably. She seemed afraid of the coroner, of Lambert, of Miss Lloyd, and of the jury. It might have been merely the unreasonable fear of an ignorant mind, but it had the appearance of some more definite apprehension.

Especially did she seem afraid of the man, Louis. Though perhaps the distressed glances she cast at him were not so much those of fear as of anxiety.

The coroner spoke kindly to her, and really seemed to take more notice of her embarrassment, and make more effort to put her at her ease than he had done with Miss Lloyd.

“Is it Miss Lloyd’s bag?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Don’t you know? As her personal maid, you must be acquainted with her belongings.”

“Yes, sir. No, it isn’t hers, sir.”

But as this statement was made after a swift but noticeable glance of inquiry at her mistress, a slight distrust of Elsa formed in my own mind, and probably in the minds of others.

“She has one like this, has she not?”

“She—she did have, sir; but she—she gave it to me.”

“Yes? Then go and get it and let us see it.”

“I haven’t it now, sir. I—I gave it away.”

“Oh, you gave it away! To whom? Can you get it back?”

“No, sir; I gave it to my cousin, who sailed for Germany last week.”

Miss Lloyd looked up in surprise, and that look of surprise told against her. I could see Parmalee’s eyes gleam as he concluded in his own mind that the bag story was all false, was made up between mistress and maid, and that the part about the departing cousin was an artistic touch added by Elsa.

The coroner, too, seemed inclined to disbelieve the present witness, and he sat thoughtfully snapping the catch of the bag.

He turned again to Miss Lloyd. “Having given away your own bag,” he said suavely, “you have perhaps provided yourself with another, have you not?”

“Why, no, I haven’t,” said Florence Lloyd. “I have been intending to do so, and shall get one shortly, but I haven’t yet selected it.”

“And in the meantime you have been getting along without any?”

“A gold-mesh bag is not an indispensable article; I have several bags of other styles, and I’m in no especial haste to purchase a new one.”

Miss Lloyd’s manner had taken on several degrees of hauteur, and her voice was incisive in its tone. Clearly she resented this discussion of her personal belongings, and as she entirely repudiated the ownership of the bag in the coroner’s possession, she was annoyed at his questions.

Mr. Monroe looked at her steadily.

“If this is not your bag, Miss Lloyd,” he said, with some asperity, “how did it get on Mr. Crawford’s desk late last night? The butler has assured me it was not there when he looked in at a little after ten o’clock. Yet this morning it lay there, in plain sight on the desk. Whose bag is it?”

“I have not the slightest idea,” said Miss Lloyd firmly; “but, I repeat, it is not mine.”

“Easy enough to see the trend of Monroe’s questions,” said Parmalee in my ear. “If he can prove this bag to be Miss Lloyd’s, it shows that she was in the office after ten o’clock last night, and this she has denied.”

“Don’t you believe her?” said I.

“Indeed I don’t. Of course she was there, and of course it’s her bag. She put that pretty maid of hers up to deny it, but any one could see the maid was lying, also.”

“Oh, come now, Parmalee, that’s too bad! You’ve no right to say such things!”

“Oh, pshaw! you think the same yourself, only you think it isn’t chivalrous to put it into words.”

Of course what annoyed me in Parmalee’s speech was its inherent truth. I didn’t believe Florence Lloyd. Much as I wanted to, I couldn’t; for the appearance, manner and words of both women were not such as to inspire belief in their hearers.

If she and Elsa were in collusion to deny her ownership of the bag, it would be hard to prove the contrary, for the men-servants could not be supposed to know, and I had no doubt Mrs. Pierce would testify as Miss Lloyd did on any matter.

I was sorry not to put more confidence in the truth of the testimony I was hearing, but I am, perhaps, sceptical by nature. And, too, if Florence Lloyd were in any way implicated in the death of her uncle, I felt pretty sure she would not hesitate at untruth.

Her marvellous magnetism attracted me strongly, but it did not blind me to the strength of her nature. While I could not, as yet, believe her in any way implicated in the death of her uncle, I was fully convinced she knew more concerning it than she had told and I knew, unless forced to, she would not tell what she desired to keep secret.

My sympathy, of course, was with her, but my duty was plain. As a detective, I must investigate fairly, or give up the case.

At this juncture, I knew the point at issue was the presence of Miss Lloyd in the office last night, and the two yellow rose petals I had picked up on the floor might prove a clue.

At any rate it was my duty to investigate the point, so taking a card from my pocket I wrote upon it: “Find out if Miss Lloyd wore any flowers last evening, and what kind.”

I passed this over to Mr. Monroe, and rather enjoyed seeing his mystification as he read it.

To my surprise he did not question Florence Lloyd immediately, but turned again to the maid.

“At what time did your mistress go to her room last evening?”

“At about ten o’clock, sir. I was waiting there for her, and so I am sure.”

“Did she at once retire?”

“No, sir. She changed her evening gown for a teagown, and then said she would sit up for an hour or so and write letters, and I needn’t wait.”

“You left her then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did Miss Lloyd wear any flowers at dinner last evening?”

“No, sir. There were no guests—only the family.”

“Ah, quite so. But did she, by chance, pin on any flowers after she went to her room?”

“Why, yes, sir; she did. A box of roses had come for her by a messenger, and when she found them in her room, she pinned one on the lace of her teagown.”

“Yes? And what time did the flowers arrive?”

“While Miss Lloyd was at dinner, sir. I took them from the box and put them in water, sir.”

“And what sort of flowers were they?”

“Yellow roses, sir.”

“That will do, Elsa. You are excused.”

The girl looked bewildered, and a little embarrassed as she returned to her place among the other servants, and Miss Lloyd looked a little bewildered also.

But then, for that matter, no body understood the reason for the questions about the flowers, and though most of the jury merely looked preternaturally wise on the subject, Mr. Orville scribbled it all down in his little book. I was now glad to see the man keep up his indefatigable note-taking. If the reporters or stenographers missed any points, I could surely get them from him.

But from the industry with which he wrote, I began to think he must be composing an elaborate thesis on yellow roses and their habits.

Mr. Porter, looking greatly puzzled, observed to the coroner, “I have listened to your inquiries with interest; and I would like to know what, if any, special importance is attached to this subject of yellow roses.”

“I’m not able to tell you,” replied Mr. Monroe. “I asked these questions at the instigation of another, who doubtless has some good reason for them, which he will explain in due time.”

Mr. Porter seemed satisfied with this, and I nodded my head at the coroner, as if bidding him to proceed.

But if I had been surprised before at the all but spoken intelligence which passed between the two servants, Elsa and Louis, I was more amazed now. They shot rapid glances at each other, which were evidently full of meaning to themselves. Elsa was deathly white, her lips trembled, and she looked at the Frenchman as if in terror of her life. But though he glanced at her meaningly, now and then, Louis’s anxiety seemed to me to be more for Florence Lloyd than for her maid.

But now the coroner was talking very gravely to Miss Lloyd.

“Do you corroborate,” he was saying, “the statements of your maid about the flowers that were sent you last evening?”

“I do,” she replied.

“From whom did they come?”

“From Mr. Hall.”

“Mr. Hall,” said, the coroner, turning toward the young man, “how could you send flowers to Miss Lloyd last evening if you were in New York City?”

“Easily,” was the cool reply. “I left Sedgwick on the six o’clock train. On my way to the station I stopped at a florist’s and ordered some roses sent to Miss Lloyd. If they did not arrive until she was at dinner, they were not sent immediately, as the florist promised.”

“When did you receive them, Miss Lloyd?”

“They were in my room when I event up there at about ten o’clock last evening,” she replied, and her face showed her wonderment at these explicit questions.

The coroner’s face showed almost as much wonderment, and I said: “Perhaps, Mr. Monroe, I may ask a few questions right here.”

“Certainly,” he replied.

And thus it was, for the first time in my life, I directly addressed Florence Lloyd.

“When you went up to your room at ten o’clock, the flowers were there?” I asked, and I felt a most uncomfortable pounding at my heart because of the trap I was deliberately laying for her. But it had to be done, and even as I spoke, I experienced a glad realization, that if she were innocent, my questions could do her no harm.

“Yes,” she repeated, and for the first time favored me with a look of interest. I doubt if she knew my name or scarcely knew why I was there.

“And you pinned one on your gown?”

“I tucked it in among the laces at my throat, yes.”

“Miss Lloyd, do you still persist in saying you did not go down-stairs again, to your uncle’s office?”

“I did not,” she repeated, but she turned white, and her voice was scarce more than a whisper.

“Then,” said I, “how did two petals of a yellow rose happen to be on the floor in the office this morning?”

VII. YELLOW ROSES

If any one expected to see Miss Lloyd faint or collapse at this crisis he must have been disappointed, and as I had confidently expected such a scene, I was completely surprised at her quick recovery of self-possession.

For an instant she had seemed stunned by my question, and her eyes had wandered vaguely round the room, as if in a vain search for help.

Her glance returned to me, and in that instant I gave her an answering look, which, quite involuntarily on my part, meant a grave and serious offer of my best and bravest efforts in her behalf. Disingenuous she might be, untruthful she might be, yes, even a criminal she might be, but in any case I was her sworn ally forever. Not that I meant to defeat the ends of justice, but I was ready to fight for her or with her, until justice should defeat us. Of course she didn’t know all this, though I couldn’t help hoping she read a little of it as my eyes looked into hers. If so, she recognized it only by a swift withdrawal of her own glance. Again she looked round at her various friends.

Then her eyes rested on Gregory Hall, and, though he gave her no responsive glance, for some reason her poise returned like a flash. It was as if she had been invigorated by a cold douche.

Determination fairly shone in her dark eyes, and her mouth showed a more decided line than I had yet seen in its red curves, as with a cold, almost hard voice she replied,

“I have no idea. We have many flowers in the house, always.”

“But I have learned from the servants that there were no other yellow roses in the house yesterday.”

Miss Lloyd was not hesitant now. She replied quickly, and it was with an almost eager haste that she said,

“Then I can only imagine that my uncle had some lady visitor in his office late last evening.”

The girl’s mood had changed utterly; her tone was almost flippant, and more than one of the jurors looked at her in wonderment.

Mr. Porter, especially, cast an her a glance of fatherly solicitude, and I was sure that he felt, as I did, that the strain was becoming too much for her.

“I don’t think you quite mean that, Florence,” he said; “you and I knew your uncle too well to say such things.”

But the girl made no reply, and her beautiful mouth took on a hard line.

“It is not an impossible conjecture,” said Philip Crawford thoughtfully. “If the bag does not belong to Florence, what more probable than that it was left by its feminine owner? The same lady might have worn or carried yellow roses.”

Perhaps it was because of my own desire to help her that these other men had joined their efforts to mine to ease the way as much as possible.

The coroner looked a little uncomfortable, for he began to note the tide of sympathy turning toward the troubled girl.

“Yellow roses do not necessarily imply a lady visitor,” he said, rather more kindly. “A man in evening dress might have worn one.”

To his evident surprise, as well as to my own, this remark, intended to be soothing, had quite the opposite effect.

“That is not at all probable,” said Miss Lloyd quite angrily. “Mr. Porter was in the office last evening; if he was wearing a yellow rose at the time, let him say so.”

“I was not,” said Mr. Porter quietly, but looking amazed at the sudden outburst of the girl.

“Of course you weren’t!” Miss Lloyd went on, still in the same excited way. “Men don’t wear roses nowadays, except perhaps at a ball; and, anyway, the gold bag surely implies that a woman was there!”

“It seems to,” said Mr. Monroe; and then, unable longer to keep up her brave resistance, Florence Lloyd fainted.

Mrs. Pierce wrung her hands and moaned in a helpless fashion. Elsa started forward to attend her young mistress, but it was the two neighbors who were jurors, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Porter, who carried the unconscious girl from the room.

Gregory Hall looked concerned, but made no movement to aid, and I marvelled afresh at such strange actions in a man betrothed to a particularly beautiful woman.

Several women in the audience hurried from the room, and in a few moments the two jurors returned.

“Miss Lloyd will soon be all right, I think,” said Mr. Porter to the coroner. “My wife is with her, and one or two other ladies. I think we may proceed with our work here.”

There was something about Mr. Lemuel Porter that made men accept his dictum, and without further remark Mr. Monroe called the next witness, Mr. Roswell Randolph, and a tall man, with an intellectual face, came forward.

While the coroner was putting the formal and preliminary questions to Mr. Randolph, Parmalee quietly drew my attention to a whispered conversation going on between Elsa and Louis.

If this girl had fainted instead of Miss Lloyd, I should not have been surprised for she seemed on the very verge of nervous collapse. She seemed, too, to be accusing the man of something, which he vigorously denied. The girl interested me far more than the Frenchman. Though of the simple, rosy-cheeked type of German, she had an air of canniness and subtlety that was at variance with her naive effect. I soon concluded she was far more clever than most people thought, and Parmalee’s whispered words showed that he thought so too.

“Something doing in the case of Dutch Elsa, eh?” he said; “she and Johnny Frenchy have cooked up something between them.”

“Nothing of any importance, I fancy,” I returned, for Miss Lloyd’s swoon seemed to me a surrender, and I had little hope now of any other direction in which to look.

But I resumed my attention to the coroner’s inquiries of Mr. Randolph.

In answer to a few formal questions, he stated that he had been Mr. Crawford’s legal adviser for many years, and had entire charge of all such matters as required legal attention.

“Did you draw up the late Mr. Crawford’s will?” asked the coroner.

“Yes; after the death of his wife—about twelve years ago.”

“And what were the terms of that will?”

“Except for some minor bequests, the bulk of his fortune was bequeathed to Miss Florence Lloyd.”

“Have you changed that will in any way, or drawn a later one?”

“No.”

It was by the merest chance that I was looking at Gregory Hall, as the lawyer gave this answer.

It required no fine perception to understand the look of relief and delight that fairly flooded his countenance. To be sure, it was quickly suppressed, and his former mask of indifference and preoccupation assumed, but I knew as well as if he had put it into words, that he had trembled lest Miss Lloyd had been disinherited before her uncle had met his death in the night.

This gave me many new thoughts, but before I could formulate them, I heard the coroner going an with his questions.

“Did Mr. Crawford visit you last evening?”

“Yes; he was at my house for perhaps half an hour or more between eight and nine o’clock.”

“Did he refer to the subject of changing his will?”

“He did. That was his errand. He distinctly stated his intention of making a new will, and asked me to come to his office this morning and draw up the instrument.”

“But as that cannot now be done, the will in favor of Miss Lloyd still stands?”

“It does,” said Mr. Randolph, “and I am glad of it. Miss Lloyd has been brought up to look upon this inheritance as her own, and while I would have used no undue emphasis, I should have tried to dissuade Mr. Crawford from changing his will.”

“But before we consider the fortune or the will, we must proceed with our task of bringing to light the murderer, and avenging Mr. Crawford’s death.”

“I trust you will do so, Mr. Coroner, and that speedily. But I may say, if allowable, that you are on the wrong track when you allow your suspicions to tend towards Florence Lloyd.”

“As your opinion, Mr. Randolph, of course that sentiment has some weight, but as a man of law, yourself, you must know that such an opinion must be proved before it can be really conclusive.”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Randolph, with a deep sigh. “But let me beg of you to look further in search of other indications before you press too hard upon Miss Lloyd with the seeming clues you now have.”

I liked Mr. Randolph very much. Indeed it seemed to me that the men of West Sedgwick were of a fine class as to both intellect and judgment, and though Coroner Monroe was not a brilliant man, I began to realize that he had some sterling qualities and was distinctly just and fair in his decisions.

As for Gregory Hall, he seemed like a man free from a great anxiety. Though still calm and reserved in appearance, he was less nervous, and quietly awaited further developments. His attitude was not hard to understand. Mr. Crawford had objected to his secretary’s engagement to his niece, and now Mr. Crawford’s objections could no longer matter. Again, it was not surprising that Mr. Hall should be glad to learn that his fiancee was the heiress she had supposed herself to he. Even though he were marrying the girl simply for love of her, a large fortune in addition was by no means to be despised. At any rate, I concluded that Gregory Hall thought so.

As often happened, Parmalee read my thoughts. “A fortune-hunter,” he murmured, with a meaning glance at Hall.

I remembered that Mr. Carstairs, at the inn had said the same thing, and I thoroughly believed it myself.

“Has he any means of his own?”

“No,” said Parmalee, “except his salary, which was a good one from Mr. Crawford, but of course he’s lost that now.”

“I don’t feel drawn toward him. I suppose one would call him a gentleman and yet he isn’t manly.”

“He’s a cad,” declared Parmalee; “any fortune hunter is a cad, and I despise him.”

Although I tried to hold my mind impartially open regarding Mr. Hall, I was conscious of an inclination to despise him myself. But I was also honest enough to realize that my principal reason for despising him was because he had won the hand of Florence Lloyd.

I heard Coroner Monroe draw a long sigh.

Clearly, the man was becoming more and more apprehensive, and really dreaded to go on with the proceedings, because he was fearful of what might be disclosed thereby.

The gold bag still lay on the table before him; the yellow rose petals were not yet satisfactorily accounted for; Miss Lloyd’s agitation and sudden loss of consciousness, though not surprising in the circumstances, were a point in her disfavor. And now the revelation that Mr. Crawford was actually on the point of disinheriting his niece made it impossible to ignore the obvious connection between that fact and the event of the night.

But no one had put the thought into words, and none seemed inclined to.

Mechanically, Mr. Monroe called the next witness on his list, and Mrs. Pierce answered.

For some reason she chose to stand during her interview, and as she rose, I realized that she was a prim little personage, but of such a decided nature that she might have been stigmatized by the term stubborn. I had seen such women before; of a certain soft, outward effect, apparently pliable and amenable, but in reality, deep, shrewd and clever.

And yet she was not strong, for the situation in which she found herself made her trembling and unstrung.

When asked by the coroner to tell her own story of the events of the evening before, she begged that he would question her instead.

Desirous of making it as easy for her as possible, Mr. Monroe acceded to her wishes, and put his questions in a kindly and conversational tone.

“You were at dinner last night, with Miss Lloyd and Mr. Crawford?”

“Yes,” was the almost inaudible reply, and Mrs. Pierce seemed about to break down at the sad recollection.

“You heard the argument between Mr. Crawford and his niece at the dinner table?”

“Yes.”

“This resulted in high words on both sides?”

“Well, I don’t know exactly what you mean by high words. Mr. Crawford rarely lost his temper and Florence never.”

“What then did Mr. Crawford say in regard to disinheriting Miss Lloyd?”

“Mr. Crawford said clearly, but without recourse to what may be called high words, that unless Florence would consent to break her engagement he would cut her off with a shilling.”

“Did he use that expression?”

“He did at first, when he was speaking more lightly; then when Florence refused to do as he wished he said he would go that very evening to Mr. Randolph’s and have a new will made which should disinherit Florence, except for a small annuity.”

“And what did Miss Lloyd reply to this threat?” asked the coroner.

“She said,” replied Mrs. Pierce, in her plaintive tones, “that her uncle might do as he chose about that; but she would never give up Mr. Hall.”

At this moment Gregory Hall looked more manly than I had yet seen him.

Though he modestly dropped his eyes at this tacit tribute to his worthiness, yet he squared his shoulders, and showed a justifiable pride in the love thus evinced for him.

“Was the subject discussed further?” pursued the coroner.

“No; nothing more was said about it after that.”

“Will the making of a new will by Mr. Crawfard affect yourself in any way, Mrs. Pierce?”

“No,” she replied, “Mr. Crawford left me a small bequest in his earlier will and I had reason to think he would do the same in a later will, even though he changed his intentions regarding Florence.”

“Miss Lloyd thoroughly believed that he intended to carry out his threat last evening?”

“She didn’t say so to me, but Mr. Crawford spoke so decidedly on the matter, that I think both she and I believed he was really going to carry out his threat at last.”

“When Mr. Crawford left the house, did you and Miss Lloyd know where he was going?”

“We knew no more than he had said at the table. He said nothing when he went away.”

“How did you and Miss Lloyd spend the remainder of the evening?”

“It was but a short evening. We sat in the music-room for a time, but at about ten o’clock we both went up to our rooms.”

“Had Mr. Crawford returned then?”

“Yes, he came in perhaps an hour earlier. We heard him come in at the front door, and go at once to his office.”

“You did not see him, or speak to him?”

“We did not. He had a caller during the evening. It was Mr. Porter, I have since learned.”

“Did Miss Lloyd express no interest as to whether he had changed his will or not?”

“Miss Lloyd didn’t mention the will, or her engagement, to me at all. We talked entirely of other matters.”

“Was Miss Lloyd in her usual mood or spirits?”

“She seemed a little quiet, but not at all what you might call worried.”

“Was not this strange when she was fully expecting to be deprived of her entire fortune?”

“It was not strange for Miss Lloyd. She rarely talks of her own affairs. We spent an evening similar in all respects to our usual evening when we do not have guests.”

“And you both went upstairs at ten. Was that unusually early for you?”

“Well, unless we have guests, we often go at ten or half-past ten.”

“And did you see Miss Lloyd again that night?”

“Yes; about half an hour later, I went to her room for a book I wanted.”

“Miss Lloyd had not retired?”

“No; she asked me to sit down for awhile and chat.”

“Did you do so?”

“Only for a few moments. I was interested in the book I had come for, and I wanted to take it away to my own room to read.”

“And Miss Lloyd, then, did not seem dispirited or in any way in an unusual mood?”

“Not that I noticed. I wasn’t quizzing her or looking into her eyes to see what her thoughts were, for it didn’t occur to me to do so. I knew her uncle had dealt her a severe blow, but as she didn’t open the subject, of course I couldn’t discuss it with her. But I did think perhaps she wanted to be by herself to consider the matter, and that was one reason why I didn’t stay and chat as she had asked me to.”

“Perhaps she really wanted to discuss the matter with you.”

“Perhaps she did; but in that case she should have said so. Florence knows well enough that I am always ready to discuss or sympathize with her in any matter, but I never obtrude my opinions. So as she said nothing to lead me to think she wanted to talk to me especially, I said good-night to her.”