“When did you see your sister last?” he asked. “Were you at home when she left her husband’s house?” “Alas!” she murmured. Then seeing that a more direct answer was expected of her, she added with as little appearance of effort as possible: “I _was_ at home and I heard her go out. But I had no idea that it was for any purpose other than to join some social gathering.” “Dressed this way?” The captain pointed to the floor and her eyes followed. Certainly Mrs. Jeffrey was not appareled for an evening company. As Miss Tuttle realized the trap into which she had been betrayed, her words rushed forth and tripped each other up. “I did not notice. She often wore black—it became her. My sister was eccentric.” Worse, worse than useless. Some slips can not be explained away. Miss Tuttle seemed to realize that this was one of them, for she paused abruptly, with the words half finished on her tongue. Yet her attitude commanded respect, and I for one was ready to accord it to her. Certainly, such a woman was not to be seen every day, and if her replies lacked candor, there was a nobility in her presence which gave the lie to any doubt. At least, that was the effect she produced on me. Whether or not her interrogator shared my feeling I could not so readily determine, for his attention as well as mine was suddenly diverted by the cry which now escaped her lips. “Her watch! Where is her watch? It is gone! I saw it on her breast and it’s gone. It hung just—just where—” “Wait!” cried one of the men who had been peering about the floor. “Is this it?” He held aloft a small object blazing with jewels. “Yes,” she gasped, trying to take it. But the officer gave it to the captain instead. “It must have slipped from her as she fell,” remarked the latter, after a cursory examination of the glittering trinket. “The pin by which she attached it to her dress must have been insecurely fastened.” Then quickly and with a sharp look at Miss Tuttle: “Do you know if this was considered an accurate timepiece?” “Yes. Why do you ask? Is it—” “Look!” He held it up with the face toward us. The hands stood at thirteen minutes past seven. “The hour and the moment when it struck the floor,” he declared. “And consequently the hour and the moment when Mrs. Jeffrey fell,” finished Durbin. Miss Tuttle said nothing, only gasped. “Valuable evidence,” quoth the captain, putting the watch in his pocket. Then, with a kind look at her, called forth by the sight of her misery: “Does this hour agree with the time of her leaving the house?” “I can not say. I think so. It was some time before or after seven. I don’t remember the exact minute.” “It would take fifteen for her to walk here. Did she walk?” “I do not know. I didn’t see her leave. My room is at the back of the house.” “You can say if she left alone or in the company of her husband?” “Mr. Jeffrey was not with her?” “Was Mr. Jeffrey in the house?” “He was not.” This last negative was faintly spoken.