Vera almost exclaimed aloud at the coldness of her fingers. “Are you having a chill, Mrs. Porter?” she asked in alarm, observing the bluish hue of her lips. “Would you like some brandy?” “No.” Mrs. Porter’s tone did not encourage further solicitude. “As soon as Mr. Mitchell completes his visit I shall go for a walk. Continue your remarks, Mr. Mitchell.” Mitchell was about to comply with her injunction when Vera, who had remained standing by Mrs. Porter, spoke first. “I have heard that Dr. Alan Noyes has been arrested for the murder of Mr. Bruce Brainard. Is that correct?” “Yes.” Mitchell, keeping his finger at a certain point in the manuscript before him, watched Vera closely. “Then the police have acted most unjustly,” exclaimed Vera vehemently. “Dr. Noyes is innocent.” “Your grounds for that assertion?” Vera hesitated, glanced dubiously at Mrs. Porter, whose adamantine expression gave her no encouragement, and then addressed Mitchell. “I believe--” Her clear voice faltered, and she commenced again. “I believe that no murder was committed--Mr. Brainard killed himself.” Mitchell made no attempt to conceal his incredulity. “Medical evidence proves that the wound in his throat could not have been self-inflicted except by a left-handed man,” he rejoined. “And reputable witnesses have proved that Bruce Brainard was _not_ left-handed.” “But he was ambidextrous,” retorted Vera. “He could shave himself with equal facility with either hand.” Mitchell stared at her astounded, while Mrs. Porter, hanging on her words, drew a deep, deep breath. “Where did you learn that about Bruce Brainard?” demanded Mitchell. Vera met the detective’s accusing gaze squarely. “He told me so himself.” “What?” Mitchell leaned across the table in his eagerness. “Did Brainard tell you that he was ambidextrous on Monday night?” “No.” “Then you had known him before Monday night?” “I had.” Mitchell sat back in his chair and scowled at Vera. “Why did you not mention in your testimony at the inquest on Tuesday that you had known Bruce Brainard formerly?” His manner was stern. “You gave us to understand that you had not met Brainard until sent for to attend him after dinner on Monday night.” “I was not asked the direct question as to whether we had ever met before,” replied Vera. “I did not volunteer the information because--” “Because it would have led to an investigation of your acquaintance with him,” with insolent meaning, and Vera, her hot blood dancing in her veins, stepped nearer the detective, her eyes blazing with pent-up wrath. Mrs. Porter, rising suddenly, intervened. “Stop, Mr. Mitchell; if you insult Miss Deane I shall have my servants eject you,” she said, and her slow, level tones warned the detective that he must not go too far in his heckling tactics. But before he could resume questioning Vera the library door, which she had left ajar on entering, was pushed open and Mrs. Hall came into the room.