Alma’s brows rose in distinct annoyance. “The question of wear in such a garment is not a matter of fact, it is a matter of opinion. It may be that my uncle considered them more worn than Griscom did, or it may be that, since I admired them, my uncle was willing to part with them, even if they were nearly new. The fact remains, he gave them to me, for the purpose I have told you, and I cannot see what bearing it has on the matter of his death. He also gave me the Totem Pole, and I carried the things home, and inadvertently left them in the boathouse.” Well, if that girl was a liar, she certainly was the cleverest one I had ever seen, and I didn’t for a minute believe she was lying. I glanced at Keeley Moore, but nobody could read his inscrutable face. I turned my attention to the jury. Their interested countenances left no doubt of their sympathy with the witness and their readiness to accept her statements. And apparently Hart himself believed in her. The explanation of the waistcoats was plausible enough. Doubtless, those rich men did give up their clothing before it was worn threadbare, especially if a pretty niece asked for it. And the Totem Pole, too. It was known that Sampson Tracy had been devoted to his niece, although they no longer lived in the same house, and for him to make her presents was far from unbelievable. And, of course, I believed her. Even if she had come to Pleasure Dome in the dead of night, that had nothing to do with the waistcoats, which, doubtless, were given to her exactly when and why she had stated. Yet the girl seemed a mystery. Coroner Hart contemplated her with a perplexed stare, which she in no way resented. “Can I tell you anything more?” she asked, helpfully. Then he glared at her. “Not now, Miss Remsen,” he said, with a new note in his voice. It sounded almost menacing and Merry seemed to spring to attention. “I shall adjourn the inquest, as it was intended merely for identification purposes, and I must look into the case further before I can carry on properly. I will call at your house to-day, and investigate a few things.” “Indeed, you’ll do nothing of the sort!”, Mrs. Merivale exclaimed, her eyes fairly snapping. They were dark, deep-set eyes, and her gray hair, in wisps round her thin gaunt face, shook with the intensity of her anger. “I’ll not have my lamb pestered by such nonsense! Ask her what you like now, and have done with it. But don’t come snooping about her home, for you won’t be let in!” Alma quietly turned to the irate woman, and gave her a tender smile. Then she said to Hart, quietly: “Mrs. Merivale means no disrespect. She is ignorant of the workings of the law, and is quick to resent what she thinks an intrusion on my privacy. Keep still, Merry. The law must take its course.” More, I felt certain, in response to a caressing touch on her shoulder than by Alma’s words, the woman subsided, muttering to herself, but saying nothing audible.