The more Ames said, the less I liked him, and I knew Kee felt the same way about it. But the man was right as to haste being advisable. The circumstances were so peculiar, the conditions so fantastic, that search for the criminal must be made quickly, or a man of such diabolical cleverness would put himself beyond our reach. The Inspector, the police detective and Keeley Moore consulted a few moments and then Inspector Farrell said: “The case is altered. Now that we know it is wilful murder, and not a stroke of illness, we must act accordingly. Coroner Hart will conduct an immediate inquiry, preliminary to his formal inquest. No one may leave the house; you, Griscom, will tell the servants this, and I shall call in more help from the police station to guard the place. We will go downstairs, and the Coroner will choose a suitable room, and begin his investigation.” Farrell was an efficient director, though in no way a detective. He locked the door that commanded the whole apartment after he had herded us all out. We filed downstairs, and I could hear women’s voices in a small reception room as we passed it. The Coroner chose a room which was fitted up as a sort of writing room. It was of moderate size and contained several desks or writing tables, evidently a writing room for guests. There was a bookcase of books and a table of periodicals and newspapers. Clearly, the house had every provision for comfort and pleasure. Save for the sinister atmosphere now pervading it, I felt I should have liked to visit there. The Coroner settled himself at a table, and instructed Griscom to send in the house servants one at a time. He also told the butler to serve breakfast as usual, and advised Harper Ames to go to the dining room, as he would be called on later for testimony. Hart’s manner now was crisp and business-like. The realization of the awful facts of the case had spurred him to definite and immediate action. Mrs. Fenn, the cook-housekeeper, threw no new light on the situation. She corroborated Griscom’s story of the locked door and the subsequent opening of it by Louis, but she could add no new information. “You were fond of Mr. Tracy?” asked Moore, kindly, for the poor woman was vainly trying to control her grief. “Oh, yes, sir. He was a good master and a truly great man.” “You’ve never known, among the guests of the house, any one who was his enemy?” “No, sir. But I almost never see the guests. I’m housekeeper, to be sure, but the maids do all the housework. I superintend the cooking.” “And you’ve heard no gossip about any one who had an enmity or a grudge toward Mr. Tracy?” “Ah, who could have? He was a gentle, peaceable man, was Mr. Tracy. Who could wish him harm?” “Yet somebody did,” the Coroner put in, and then he dismissed Mrs. Fenn, feeling she could be of no use. The other house servants were similarly ignorant of any guest or neighbour who was unfriendly to Mr. Tracy, and then Hart called for the chauffeur.