"Mr. Atkins is often away from home, isn't he?" "Yes, sir." "How often?" "About once a fortnight, sir." "Has Mrs. Atkins ever allowed you both to go out together before?" "No, sir." "Where does your sister live, and what is her name?" "Mrs. Moriarty, 300 Third Avenue." The Coroner paused to scribble down the address, then resumed: "At what time did you get back from the party?" The girl tugged at her dress in some embarrassment. "It might have been after eleven," she reluctantly admitted. "How much after--quarter past, half-past?" he suggested, as she still hesitated. "It was almost half-past, sir." "And when you returned, did you see your mistress?" "Oh, yes, sir." "Was she alone?" "Yes, sir," the girl answered, with some surprise. "Did you notice anything unusual about her?" "Well, sir, she'd been crying, and I never see her cry before." "What did Mrs. Atkins say to you?" "She scolded us for being so late," the girl answered shamefacedly. "Was that all she said?" "Yes, sir." "Where was your mistress when you saw her?" "She was lying on the sofy in her bed-room, tired like." "What did Mrs. Atkins do yesterday?" "She went out after breakfast and didn't come back till nearly six." "How did she seem when she returned?" "She'd been crying awful, and she just lay quiet and wouldn't eat no dinner." "Do Mr. and Mrs. Atkins get along well together?" "Oh, sir, they're that loving," she answered with a blush and a smile. Again my curiosity got the better of my discretion, and I asked: "Did you hear any strange noises during the night?" The Coroner glared at me, but said nothing this time. "Well," replied the girl, "me and Jane did think as we'd heard a scream." Ha, ha, thought I, and I saw Mr. Merritt indulge in one of his quiet smiles. "So you heard a scream," said the Coroner. "I don't know for sure; I thought so." "At what time did you hear it?" "I don't know, sir; some time in the night." "What did you do when you heard it?" "Nothing, sir." This was all that could be got out of her, so she made way for the cook, who, after being cross-questioned at some length, did no more than corroborate the waitress's statement, only she was more positive of having heard the "screech" as she called it. "Could you tell whether it was a man or woman who screamed?" inquired the Coroner. "It was a woman's voice, sir." Mr. Stuart, who was next admitted, proved to be a small, middle-aged man, extremely well groomed, and whom I recognized as one of the members of my Club, whose name I had never known. On being asked if he had ever seen the dead man before, he solemnly inserted a single eye-glass into his right eye, and contemplated the corpse with the greatest imperturbability.