What she took out, or whether she took out anything, this spy upon her movements could not say, for when Loretta heard the drawer being pushed back into place she drew the curtains close, perceiving that Miss Tuttle would have to face this window in coming back. However, she ventured upon one other peep through them just as that lady was leaving the room, and remembered as if it were yesterday how clay-white her face looked, and how she held her left hand pressed close against the folds of her dress. It was but a few minutes after this that Miss Tuttle left the house. As we all knew what was kept in that drawer, the conclusion was obvious. Whatever excuse Miss Tuttle might give for going into her sister’s room at this time, but one thought, one fear, or possibly one hope, could have taken her to Mr. Jeffrey’s private drawer. She wished to see if his pistol was still there, or if it had been taken away by her sister,—a revelation of the extreme point to which her thoughts had flown at this crisis, and one which effectually contradicted her former statement that she had been conscious of no alarm in behalf of her sister and had seen her leave the house without dread or suspicion of evil. The temerity which had made it possible to associate the name of such a man as Francis Jeffrey with an outrageous crime having been thus in a measure explained, the coroner recalled that gentleman and again thoroughly surprised the gaping public. Had the witness accompanied his wife to the Moore house? “No” Had he met her there by any appointment he had made with her or which had been made for them both by some third person? “No” Had he been at the Moore house on the night of the eleventh at any time previous to the hour when he was brought there by the officials? “No.” Would he glance at this impression of certain finger-tips which had been left in the dust of the southwest chamber mantel? He had already noted them. Now would he place his left hand on the paper and see— “It is not necessary,” he burst forth, in great heat. “I own to those marks. That is, I have no doubt they were made by my hand.” Here, unconsciously, his eyes flew to the member thus referred to, as if conscious that in some way it had proved a traitor to him; after which his gaze traveled slowly my way, with an indescribable question in it which roused my conscience and made the trick by which I had got the impression of his hand seem less of a triumph than I had heretofore considered it. The next minute he was answering the coroner under oath, very much as he had answered him in the unofficial interview at which I had been present.