“The footman is waiting in the hall,” added Coroner Black, and, barely waiting for the closing of the library door behind McPherson, he asked: “Was Mr. Brainard left-handed?” “I don’t think so.” Wyndham considered the question. “No, I am sure that he was not. Once or twice I have played billiards with him, and I would certainly have observed any such peculiarity.” A sudden movement on the part of Beverly Thorne brought the coroner’s attention to him. “Do you care to question the witness, doctor?” he inquired and, as Thorne nodded, he explained hurriedly to Wyndham, whose brow had darkened ominously: “Dr. Thorne is a justice of the peace and is here to assist in this investigation at my request,” with quiet emphasis on the last words, and Wyndham thought better of hot-tempered objections. Thorne rose and approached the center table before speaking. “Mr. Wyndham,” he began, “did you telephone into town that Mr. Brainard was ill and would spend the night in this house?” “No,” answered Wyndham, and his tone was of the curtest. “To your knowledge did anyone else in this house telephone Brainard’s condition to friends in Washington?” “I did not hear of it if they did.” “Then no one, outside this household, knew that Brainard was spending the night here?” Wyndham moved impatiently. “You forget Mrs. Porter had other dinner guests last night,” he said stiffly. “They knew of his illness and his presence here.” “True,” broke in the coroner. “Mrs. Porter has already furnished me with their names, and--” But before he could add more Thorne interposed with a question. “How about Brainard’s chauffeur?” “He had none, but drove his own car,” responded Wyndham. “Is that still here?” “I believe so. Sims, Mrs. Porter’s chauffeur, reported it was in the garage this morning.” At that moment the door opened to admit McPherson, who advanced somewhat short of breath from hurrying, and laid an ordinary razor and a Gillett “safety” on the center table. “The first razor I found in Mr. Wyndham’s bureau,” he announced. “The second was handed to me by Miss Deane.” He stopped to resume his seat, then continued more slowly: “The nurse showed me where Mr. Porter’s shaving things are kept in the bathroom between his bedroom and that occupied by the nurses.” “Thanks, McPherson.” Coroner Black replaced the blood-stained razor on the table beside the others. “You are excused, Mr. Wyndham.” Wyndham bowed and stepped past Thorne; at the door he hesitated, but, catching Thorne’s eyes, he turned and left the room without speaking. “McPherson, will you take the stand?” directed Black, and the deputy coroner sat down in the chair reserved for the witnesses, after first having the oath administered to him. “You performed the autopsy on Mr. Brainard?” asked Black a few seconds later.