“You are laboring under a mistaken idea,” replied Mrs. Porter coldly. “My consent was only asked yesterday, and I very properly told Mr. Brainard that I needed a night in which to think it over.” The coroner stroked his chin as he contemplated Mrs. Porter, then observing the jurors’ air of interest, asked more briskly: “When did you make Mr. Brainard’s acquaintance?” “About a year ago, and until he went to South America he was a frequent visitor at my house.” Mrs. Porter glanced involuntarily at the clock as it chimed the hour, and the coroner rose. “Please give me the names of your dinner guests,” he said, picking up a pencil and drawing a pad toward him. “Captain and Mrs. Mark Willert, Miss Margaret Spencer, my daughter Millicent, my nephew, Mr. Hugh Wyndham, Dr. Noyes, Mr. Brainard--let me see, that makes eight,” checking them off on her finger. “I have a few intimate friends in to dinner every week on Millicent’s account. I do not want her brother’s distressing illness to cast too great a shadow on my daughter’s young life.” “Is your son improving?” “Yes, thank God!” Mrs. Porter’s eyes shone with a softer light and her voice shook. “Dr. Noyes and time will work wonders in his condition. I”--she paused and steadied her voice--“I have every confidence in Dr. Noyes.” Coroner Black bowed. “We will not keep you longer, madam; but before you leave kindly examine this razor and tell us if you can identify it.” “I will look at it, certainly.” It took her a second or two to disentangle her lorgnette chain from a tassel on her gown, then raising her glasses she stared at the blood-stained article. “To the best of my knowledge I have not seen it before,” she announced, rising, and at a sign from the coroner retreated toward the hall door, hardly responding to the foreman’s curt nod. Bidding her a courteous good afternoon, Coroner Black opened the door and waited for her to pass into the hall, then stepped after her in time to see her pause and draw back into an alcove as Dr. Beverly Thorne approached them. If Dr. Thorne observed the latent air of hostility and discourtesy in her bearing there was no indication of it in his unruffled manner as he greeted the coroner. “Sorry to be late, Black,” he said. “But an important case--” as he spoke he removed his overcoat and handed it and his hat to the attentive footman. “Do you wish me to testify now?” “No. I want you here in your capacity of ‘J. P.,’” responded the coroner. “In other words, look, listen and--note.” The last word was added as he held the library door ajar before throwing it wide open. “Murray, request Mr. Hugh Wyndham to come to the library.”