He said he did not think so, because she always rang for admission when he was there. I inquired then if he knew of any one who had keys to White's room. He said he did not think any one had except, probably, the landlady and himself. "I think," I said, "you testified that you found the door unlatched when you went to the rooms the morning of Mr. White's death. How do you mean it was unlatched?" "I mean," he answered, "that the catch was so fixed that it could be opened from the outside without a key. This was hardly ever the case that I remember, and never before over night." I asked him how the catch was fixed when he left, and he answered that he could not say because the door was open, and Mr. Davis still in the room. "And you did not go back that night?" I asked. "No, sir," he answered promptly, "certainly not. You saw me going home yourself." "So I did," I admitted; "and how about the front door when you left, was that unfastened, too?" He said that he had closed the door after him when he went out, but did not know whether it was fixed to open from the outside or not as he had not tried it, but that it was fastened when he returned in the morning because he had to use his key to get in. "Had Winters a key?" I asked. "No," he admitted, "I am very sure he hadn't." "Then in case the door was locked," I said, "how could he have gotten in?" He looked puzzled for a moment, but brightened up, and suggested that Mr. White might have let him in, as he never refused him admission. "But in that case," I suggested, "Mr. White would have been awake and he was apparently asleep when he was killed." He had nothing to say to this, except to suggest rather doubtfully that Mr. White might have laid down and gone to sleep again while Winters was there. "Do you think that likely?" I inquired. "No," he said, "I do not." "Then," I continued, "why do you feel so sure that Winters killed him?" After looking at me in a surprised way, he asked: "If he didn't kill him, sir, who did?" I admitted I did not know, but suggested that we ought not to be too hasty in our conclusions. "Well, sir," he answered, "perhaps he didn't, but everybody thinks he did, and I think so too." I felt that the examination was at an end, and that I had not made very much of it. If Benton was guilty he had successfully avoided giving evidence of it, and if he was innocent, then his attitude was a pretty fair sample of the estimate the average man or juror would be apt to place upon my conjectures and theories. "You may go," I told him; "I am much obliged to you for coming, and you must tell me anything more you may learn or that occurs to you about the case." "I will, sir. Good-night, sir," he answered, and went out promptly and quietly, like the well-trained servant he had always been.