"I don't know. A box, bequeathed to Miss Clyde and a--something similar to you, probably contain her principal bequests. This house, however, she has left to another relative, and there are other bequests. I do not deny the will is that of an eccentric woman, as will be shown at its reading, in due time." "That's all right," broke in the coroner, "but what I'm interested in is catching the murderer." "And solving the mystery of his getting in," supplemented Hughes. "She might have let him in," assumed Timken. "All right, but how did he get out?" "That's the mystery," mused Chapin. "I can see no light on that question, whatever, can you, Winston?" "No," said Bannard, shortly. "There's no secret entrance to this room, of that I'm positive. And with the windows barred, and those people at the door, as it was broken open, there seems no explanation." "Oh, pshaw," said Timken, "that's all for future consideration. The lady couldn't have killed herself. Somebody got in and the same somebody got out. It's up to the detectives to find out how. If a human being could do it, and did do it, another human being can find out how. But let us get at the possible criminal. Motive is the first consideration." "The heirs are always looked upon as having motive," said Lawyer Chapin, "but, in this case, I feel sure the principal heirs are Miss Clyde and Mr. Bannard, and I cannot suspect either of them." "Iris--ridiculous!" exclaimed Bannard. "For Heaven's sake, don't drag her name in!" "Where is Miss Clyde's bedroom?" asked Hughes, suddenly. "Directly above this room," returned Bannard. "Are you going to suggest that she came down here by a concealed staircase, and maltreated her aunt in this ferocious manner? Mr. Hughes, do confine yourself to theories that at least have a slight claim to common sense!" And yet, when the coroner held his inquest next day, more than one who listened to the evidence leaned toward the suggestion of Iris Clyde's possible connection with the crime. The girl's own manner was against her, or rather against her chance of gaining the sympathies of the audience. The inquest was held in Pellbrook. The big living room was filled with interested listeners, who also crowded the hall, and drifted into the dining room. The room where Mrs. Pell had died was closed to all, but curiosity-seekers hovered around it outside, and inspected the steel protected windows, and discoursed wisely of secret passages and concealed exits. As the one known to have last spoken with her aunt, Iris was closely questioned. But her replies were of no help in getting at the truth. She admitted that she and her aunt quarreled often, and agreed that that was the real reason she had decided to go to New York to live. But her answers were curt, even angry at times, and her manner was haughty and resentful. Great emphasis was laid by the coroner on the tenor of the last words that passed between Iris and her aunt.