Q. “Come, Jane, do you remember that?” A. “Oh, yes. I remember now. I only saw him for a second. I’d forgotten about that. A tall man with a black, pointed beard.” Q. “Had you ever seen that man before?” Tears came suddenly into the housekeeper’s eyes. The coroner paused with a great show of tenderness as she dried them. A. “I don’t remember.” Q. “After you saw this man with the black beard, tell us what happened then.” A. “I was busy in the kitchen arranging the sandwiches.” Q. “What time was this?” A. “About nine o’clock.” Q. “Did you hear any sounds in the house while you were thus busy?” A. “No, sir.” Q. “Well, go on, then. Tell us what happened.” A. “I don’t know.” Q. “If there had been any sounds in the library, sounds such as might be made by a violent struggle, would you have heard them from where you were?” A. “Oh, yes, sir! I’m sure I would.” Q. “Do you remember when Miss Ballau returned?” A. “Yes.” Q. “What time was it?” The housekeeper again hesitated. The frightened expression returned to her eyes. She wavered until, turning, she encountered the attentive gaze of Florence Ballau. With a sigh she looked back at the coroner. A. “I don’t remember what time it was. I didn’t look.” Q. “Did you let Miss Ballau into the apartment?” A. “Yes. The bell rang and I answered the door.” Q. “What did Miss Ballau do or say, if anything?” A. “I don’t remember. I was busy. I went right back to the kitchen.” Q. “Then what happened?” A. “When I got into the kitchen I heard Miss Ballau screaming and I rushed out in the hall. Miss Ballau was standing in the library door and screaming about her father.” Q. “Just what did she say?” A. “I don’t remember. She was screaming. I went in and saw Mr. Ballau on the floor. I began to cry.... I don’t remember....” Q. “Come now, Jane, pull yourself together. Do you remember how Mr. Ballau was lying?” A. “On his back.” Q. “Did you notice anything odd about the room?” A. “Yes, it was all torn up.” Q. “Did you notice whether a candle was burning in a candlestick beside the head of the dead man?” The housekeeper stared speechlessly at the coroner. The question had sent a shiver through the crowd. The hollow eyes of the woman widened. She spoke in a low voice. A. “I didn’t notice any candle burning.” Q. “Did you ever hear anyone quarreling with Mr. Ballau?” A. “No.” Q. “How did Mr. Ballau treat you?” The housekeeper failed to answer. She was looking slowly around the room. Suddenly, with a cry, she fell forward. Her head lay on the table as the sound of hysterical weeping filled the place. “That will be all, thank you,” said the coroner. A policeman assisted Jane to her feet and led her sobbing from the room. “Call Mr. Donovan,” ordered the coroner. Donovan, the doorman of the Hudson Apartments, in which building the dead man had lived, took his place stolidly in the witness chair. Under questioning he identified himself and his vocation.