"I will. I do not know why I stopped,--or in his own house." "In his own house? In the house in Gramercy Park, do you mean?" "Yes, he has no other." "The house in which this dead girl was found?" "Yes,"--impatiently. "Did you think she might throw herself at his feet there?" "She said she might; and as she is romantic, foolishly romantic, I thought her fully capable of doing so." "And so you did not seek her in the morning?" "No, sir." "How about the afternoon?" This was a close question; we saw that he was affected by it though he tried to carry it off bravely. "I did not see her in the afternoon. I was in a restless frame of mind, and did not remain in the city." "Ah! indeed! and where did you go?" "Unless necessary, I prefer not to say." "It is necessary." "I went to Coney Island." "Alone?" "Yes." "Did you see anybody there you know?" "No." "And when did you return?" "At midnight." "When did you reach your rooms?" "Later." "How much later?" "Two or three hours." "And where were you during those hours?" "I was walking the streets." The ease, the quietness with which he made these acknowledgments were remarkable. The jury to a man honored him with a prolonged stare, and the awe-struck crowd scarcely breathed during their utterance. At the last sentence a murmur broke out, at which he raised his head and with an air of surprise surveyed the people before him. Though he must have known what their astonishment meant, he neither quailed nor blanched, and while not in reality a handsome man, he certainly looked handsome at this moment. I did not know what to think; so forbore to think anything. Meanwhile the examination went on. "Mr. Van Burnam, I have been told that the locket I see there dangling from your watch-chain contains a lock of your wife's hair. Is it so?" "I have a lock of her hair in this; yes." "Here is a lock clipped from the head of the unknown woman whose identity we seek. Have you any objection to comparing the two?" "It is not an agreeable task you have set me," was the imperturbable response; "but I have no objection to doing what you ask." And calmly lifting the chain, he took off the locket, opened it, and held it out courteously toward the Coroner. "May I ask you to make the first comparison," he said. The Coroner, taking the locket, laid the two locks of brown hair together, and after a moment's contemplation of them both, surveyed the young man seriously, and remarked: "They are of the same shade. Shall I pass them down to the jury?" Howard bowed. You would have thought he was in a drawing-room, and in the act of bestowing a favor. But his brother Franklin showed a very different countenance, and as for their father, one could not even see his face, he so persistently held up his hand before it. The jury, wide-awake now, passed the locket along, with many sly nods and a few whispered words. When it came back to the Coroner, he took it and handed it to Mr. Van Burnam, saying: