“I did not say so. On the contrary, I found this pistol lying directly under the victim’s dependent hand.” “Suicide?” “I am expressing no opinion, just stating facts,” quietly remarked Nick, as the coroner took a pistol from him and examined it. The weapon was of Smith & Wesson make, had six chambers, was peculiarly mounted, and on a silver plate inlaid in the handle were the initials “E. L.” One of the chambers contained the empty shell of a cartridge. The other four were loaded. The coroner stooped, and inspected the wound in the head of the victim. “I see no powder marks on her face,” he said, looking up at Nick. “There are none. Besides, I call your attention to the condition of the right hand.” The coroner’s eyes turned quickly to the hand of the corpse, which hung at the side of the body. “Ha! I see. She was putting on her glove, and couldn’t have handled the pistol herself.” “Not unless she fired the shot with her left hand.” “But the bullet entered the right temple?” “I am not sure of it.” “But see. Here is the wound,” cried the coroner, pointing to the little blue spot on the side of the girl’s face, which was turned up to their gaze. “Yes, that is a wound. But the bullet might have come out at that place instead of going in.” “Oh! Then there is a wound on the other side of the head; the side which lies upon the desk.” “I think there is.” “You think. Don’t you know--have you not raised the head to see?” “I have not raised the head to see, but I know there is.” “Why, how do you know if you have not seen?” “Because here is the fatal bullet, and it not only went into her head, but clean through it.” “Where did you find it?” “In that corner of the room back there.” “Why, that is almost behind the body?” “Yes. The bullet passed through her head, hit the steam coil on the other side of the desk, and carromed at an acute angle, fetching up in the corner where I found it.” “It was surely not suicide,” mused the coroner. “It may not have been,” responded Nick. “She would certainly not have stopped while putting on her gloves to commit suicide?” “You say gloves. There is but one glove,” remarked Nick, dryly. “Only one in sight. We shall find the other, I presume, if we make search.” “I doubt it.” “Why?” “Because the glove she partly put on that hand is not her own.” “Not her own? Why, man, how do you know?” “Because it is fully a size too small for her.” “But----” “You would say she has it partly on. That is true, but if you examine it carefully you will see that the fingers would not even go in as far as the ends. The glove could not have been forced on her hands.” “Then whose is it?” “I don’t know,” said Nick, who meanwhile had walked across the office and was examining a woman’s light sack which hung from a hook on the wall. “It certainly didn’t belong to her, for here is the pair she used.”