“I think so, except for his two secretaries. When I came home, he was in a pleasant enough mood, and I concluded he had thought it all over and straightened it out in his mind one way or another. I didn’t refer to the matter at all, but he asked me many questions about Mrs. Dallas, such as how she looked, what mood she was in and whether she said anything about him. Just such questions as a man would naturally ask about his absent sweetheart.” “All this properly belongs to the inquest,” Coroner Hart said. “But I want to get any side-lights I can while the matter is fresh in your mind. Do you know this room well, Mr. Ames?” “Not at all. I’ve only been in here once or twice in my life.” “Then you can’t tell me if anything is missing?” “No, I think not,” Ames looked around. “No, I don’t know anything about the appointments here. Or do you mean valuables?” “Anything at all. I think we can’t blink the fact that somebody came in here after the man was dead, and arranged all those weird decorations. Now maybe that somebody took away something as well.” “That I don’t know,” Ames reiterated. “I know nothing of Tracy’s belongings.” The man had been pleasant enough at first, but now he was resuming his irritable manner, and I wondered if he would get really angry. Keeley Moore was saying almost nothing. But I knew he was losing no points of what was happening, and I rather expected him to break out soon. He did. “Perhaps, Doctor Hart,” he said, quietly, “it might be a good idea to get Mr. Tracy’s manservant or housekeeper up here, and find out a little more about the appointments of this room. For instance, whether the orange and crackers were already here, or whether the mysterious visitor brought them.” “I was just about to do that, Mr. Moore,” the Coroner said, with such haste that I had my doubts of his veracity. But he rang a bell in the wall, and we waited for a response. The butler himself answered it, a rather grandiose personage in the throes of excitement and grief at the terrible happenings to his master. “Well, Griscom,” Ames said, with his habitual frown, “these gentlemen want to ask you some questions. Answer them as fully as you can.” “Was it Mr. Tracy’s habit to have a bit of fruit or a cracker in his room at night?” the Coroner inquired. “Yes, sir,” said the butler, and the sound of his own voice seemed to steady him. “He always had an orange or a few grapes and a cracker or two on the table by his bed, sir.” “And do you think this orange and these crackers are the ones put out for him last night?” “I’m sure of it, sir. I put them out myself.” “Then where is the plate? Surely you had them on a plate.” “Of course, sir. They were on a small gilt-edged plate. I don’t see it about.” “No, I don’t either. Had Mr. Tracy a valet?”