“I acknowledge having been in the Moore house and even having been in its southwest chamber, but not at the time supposed. It was on the previous night.” He went on to relate how, being in a nervous condition and having the key to this old dwelling in his pocket, he had amused himself by going through its dilapidated interior. All of this made a doubtful impression which was greatly emphasized when, in reply to the inquiry as to where he got the light to see by, he admitted that he had come upon a candle in an upstairs room and made use of that; though he could not remember what he had done with this candle afterward, and looked dazed and quite at sea, till the coroner suggested that he might have carried it into the closet of the room where his fingers had left their impression in the dust of the mantel-shelf. Then he broke down like a man from whom some prop is suddenly snatched and looked around for a seat. This was given him, while a silence, the most dreadful I ever experienced, held every one there in check. But he speedily rallied and, with the remark that he was a little confused in regard to the incidents of that night, waited with a wild look in his averted eye for the coroner’s next question. Unhappily for him it was in continuation of the same subject. Had he bought candles or not at the grocer’s around the corner? Yes, he had. Before visiting the house? Yes. Had he also bought matches? Yes. What kind? Common safety matches. Had he noticed when he got home that the box he had just bought was half empty? No. Nevertheless he had used many matches in going through this old house, had he not? Possibly. To light his way upstairs, perhaps? It might be. Had he not so used them? Yes. Why had he done so, if he had candles in his pocket, which were so much easier to hold and so much more lasting than a lighted match? Ah, he could not say; he did not know; his mind was confused. He was awake when he should have been asleep. It was all a dream to him. The coroner became still more persistent. “Did you enter the library on your solitary visit to this old house?” “I believe so.” “What did you do there?” “Pottered around. I don’t remember.” “What light did you use?” “A candle, I think.” “You must know.” “Well, I had a candle; it was in a candelabrum.” “What candle and what candelabrum?” “The same I used upstairs, of course” “And you can not remember where you left this candle and candelabrum when you finally quitted the house?” “No. I wasn’t thinking about candles.” “What were you thinking about?” “The rupture with my wife and the bad name of the house I was in.” “Oh! and this was on Tuesday night?” “Yes, sir.” “How can you prove this to us?” “I can not.” “But you swear—” “I swear that it was Tuesday night, the night immediately preceding the one when—when my wife’s death robbed me of all earthly happiness.”