“You accompanied her to Mr. Brainard’s bedroom?” “I did.” “Describe the condition in which you found Mr. Brainard and his bedroom,” directed Black, polishing his eyeglasses, and replacing them to scrutinize the witness more closely. “I found Brainard lying on his back on the right side of his bed.” Wyndham stopped and moistened his lips. “His throat was cut and the wound had bled profusely.” “Did you find any weapon in the room?” “An open blood-stained razor was lying on the bed beside Brainard.” “Did you touch it?” “No.” “Mr. Wyndham,” Coroner Black spoke slowly, evidently weighing his words, “did you loan a razor as well as a pair of pyjamas to Mr. Brainard?” “I did not,” came the instant and emphatic denial. “Then, if you did not give him the razor, how did Mr. Brainard secure possession of the razor which you saw on his bed?” asked Black. “You, and other witnesses, have testified that Mr. Brainard brought no luggage with him and did not come prepared to spend the night.” “I have puzzled over his possessing a razor,” agreed Wyndham. “Then it occurred to me that perhaps he brought it with him from town intending to commit suicide on the way home.” “An ingenious theory,” acknowledged Black. “But why should Mr. Brainard plan to commit suicide when his engagement to a beautiful and wealthy girl was about to be announced?” “Mr. Brainard’s ill health may have unbalanced his mind.” “Did Mr. Brainard show symptoms of insanity last night?” asked Black quietly. “N-no.” Wyndham thought a minute, then glanced at the coroner. “The attack of vertigo”--he began and stopped as Coroner Black smiled and shook his head. “Mr. Wyndham”--Black turned abruptly and produced the razor--“have you seen this before?” Wyndham took it from him gingerly. “It resembles the one I saw lying on the bed close by Brainard’s left hand,” he said at last. “It is the same one,” announced Black shortly. “Had you ever seen this razor before finding it on Brainard’s bed this morning?” “No.” Wyndham examined it with care and then held up the razor so that all could see it. “It evidently belongs to a set, one to be used every day in the week--this particular razor is marked Monday--” “And today is Tuesday,” commented the foreman of the jury. The juror nearest him nudged him to be quiet, and the coroner resumed his examination. “To your knowledge, Mr. Wyndham, does anyone in this household own a set of razors such as you describe?” he demanded. “No.” Wyndham’s monosyllable rang out emphatically and his eyes met the coroner’s squarely. “Personally, I use an ordinary razor. Can I send for it?” “Certainly,” and the coroner turned to McPherson, who rose. “You will find my razor in the top drawer of my bureau; Murray, the footman, will show you my room,” explained Wyndham. “At the same time Murray can get the razor belonging to my cousin, Craig Porter. The footman shaves him,” he supplemented, “using a Gillett safety razor.”