“No.” Vera whitened as the scene of the tragedy flashed before her mental vision. “Mr. B-Brainard then lay on his back staring straight up at the ceiling, his head twisted to one side. Oh!” and one hand flew upward covering her eyes. “I can never forget the expression of his face--the look of fear--of agony. Gentlemen”--her hand dropping to her side, while she steadied herself with determined effort--“he must have suffered horribly--before he died.” “And you, awake in the next room, heard no sound?” Coroner Black repeated his former question with quiet persistence. “I heard no sound,” responded Vera mechanically. “Absolutely no sound.” A pause followed as Coroner Black fumbled among the papers lying on the table. When he removed his hand his fingers clutched a razor. “Have you seen this razor before?” he inquired, offering it to her. Vera shrank back. “I saw a razor lying on the bed beside Mr. Brainard. I did not pick it up or examine it closely.” “You mean that you cannot identify this as the razor which you saw lying on Mr. Brainard’s bed this morning?” “Yes,” and there was a change in her tone, too subtle to be detected by the coroner. She hurried on before he could ask another question: “On discovering Mr. Brainard’s condition this morning I went for Dr. Noyes, and as he was not in his room, I hastened to get Mr. Hugh Wyndham.” “How do you know that Dr. Noyes was not in his room?” demanded Coroner Black. Vera looked at him in surprise. “When I received no response to my repeated raps, I turned the handle of the door and entered his bedroom--it was empty.” “Did you meet anyone in the hall on your way to summon Dr. Noyes and Mr. Wyndham?” “No, sir, no one.” Coroner Black rose. “I think that is all, Miss Deane; no, stay, there is one other point--were you sent for when Mr. Brainard was taken ill at the dinner table?” “No. I was not aware of his illness until Dr. Noyes informed me that he and Mr. Wyndham had assisted a guest, who was suffering from vertigo, into the spare bedroom, and directed me to administer a dose of aromatic spirits of ammonia, and to make him comfortable for the night, and then to return to Mr. Porter.” Coroner Black referred to his notes before again addressing her. “Did you observe where Mr. Brainard’s clothes had been placed?” he asked. Vera wrinkled her pretty forehead in thought. “I believe they were lying on the sofa, but I cannot swear to it,” she replied. “Do you recall seeing the clothes this morning?” “I do not, sir,” was her prompt reply. “My whole attention was absorbed by the--the figure on the bed. I was too--too terrified to observe anything else in the room.” Coroner Black stared at her intently; her repose of manner and air of efficiency were at variance with her words. Judging from appearances she seemed the last person to lose her head in an emergency.