"Did you ever see anything in your husband's actions that would lead you to think him a man who might have contemplated suicide?" Mrs. Brenton looked up with wide-open eyes. "Certainly not," she said. "Had he ever spoken to you on the subject of suicide?" "I do not remember that he ever did." "Was he ever queer in his actions? In short, did you ever notice anything about him that would lead you to doubt his sanity? I am sorry if questions I ask you seem painful, but I have reasons for wishing to be certain on this point." "No," said Mrs. Brenton; "he was perfectly sane. No man could have been more so. I am certain that he never thought of committing suicide." "Why are you so certain on that point?" "I do not know why. I only know I am positive of it." "Do you know if he had any enemy who might wish his death?" "I doubt if he had an enemy in the world. I do not know of any." "Have you ever heard him speak of anybody in a spirit of enmity?" "Never. He was not a man who bore enmity against people. Persons whom he did not like he avoided." "The poison, it is said, was put into his cup of coffee. Do you happen to know," said Stratton, turning to the sheriff, "how they came to that conclusion?" "No, I do not," answered the sheriff. "In fact, I don't see any reason why they should think so." "Was morphia found in the coffee cup afterwards?" "No; at the time of the inquest all the things had been cleared away. I think it was merely presumed that the morphine was put into his coffee." "Who poured out the coffee he drank that night?" "I did," answered his wife. "You were at one end of the table and he at the other, I suppose?" "Yes." "How did the coffee cup reach him?" "I gave it to the servant, and she placed it before him." "It passed through no other hands, then?" "No." "Who was the servant?" Mrs. Brenton pondered for a moment. "I really know very little about her. She had been in our house for a couple of weeks only." "What was her name?" "Jane Morton, I think." "Where is she now, do you know?" "I do not know." "She appeared at the inquest, of course?" said Stratton, turning to the sheriff. "I think she did," was the answer. "I am not sure." He marked her name down in the note-book. "How many people were there at the dinner?" "Including my husband and myself, there were twenty-six." "Could you give me the name of each of them?" "Yes, I think so." She repeated the names, which he took down, with certain notes and comments on each. "Who sat next your husband at the head of the table?" "Miss Walker was at his right hand, Mr. Roland at his left." "Now, forgive me if I ask you if you have ever had any trouble with your husband?" "Never." "Never had any quarrel?" Mrs. Brenton hesitated for a moment. "No, I don't think we ever had what could be called a quarrel." "You had no disagreement shortly before the dinner?" Again Mrs. Brenton hesitated.