“No, nor downstairs in the coat closet,” was Mitchell’s prompt response. “I questioned all the servants and Mrs. Porter, and they say that Dr. Noyes owned a large grip with his initials--it is missing, and I conclude that he has taken it with him, for Murray declares that some underclothes and one suit of clothes are missing.” “I see.” Coroner Black frowned, then glanced toward Thorne, and the latter addressed the detective. “Have you found any trace of burglars breaking into the house last night, Mitchell?” “No. And I examined the ground about this house very thoroughly, as well as every window catch and keyhole; none have been tampered with. The servants declare they were securely locked last night, and found in the same condition this morning.” Thorne laid aside the pencil he had been twisting about in his fingers and pointed to the blood-stained razor. “Did you find finger marks on this razor?” “No, none.” Mitchell looked glum. “We tested every article in Mr. Brainard’s bedroom and could not find a trace of finger prints.” Thorne turned back to Coroner Black. “I have no further questions to ask the witness,” and the coroner dismissed Mitchell. “As you go out, Mitchell,” he added, “please send word to Miss Millicent Porter that I would like to see her here.” By the time the hall door again opened every lamp the room boasted was lit, and Millicent Porter paused just within the library to accustom herself to the sudden glare. Thorne and the jurors noted the lines of care on her white face and the dark circles under her eyes, and as Thorne approached her he muttered under his breath, in subdued admiration, “What an exquisite child!” She seemed little more in her simple dark dress, and her beauty was of the ethereal type. “We won’t keep you here very long, Miss Porter.” Coroner Black bustled forward and, snatching up a cushion from the sofa, placed it in the witness chair. “You will be more comfortable so.” She smiled her thanks, looking up at him timidly. “Now, if you will rise for a second Dr. McPherson will--there,” soothingly, observing her startled expression. “Just repeat the oath after McPherson and place your hand on the Bible--so. Now sit right here. Kindly tell the jurors your full name--” “Millicent Porter.” “And how long have you known Mr. Brainard, Miss Porter?” “A little over a year.” She spoke with an effort and several of the jurors hitched their chairs nearer so as not to miss a word she said. “And when did you become engaged to him?” inquired Coroner Black. Millicent flushed scarlet. “I--I--” she stumbled badly. “We were--it was--” Then in an indignant rush, “My private affairs do not concern you; I decline to answer impertinent questions.” Coroner Black bowed and adjusted his eyeglasses, and to the disappointment of a number of the jurors he did not press the point. “Why did you and Mr. Brainard quarrel last night?” he asked.