“Quarrel?” Millicent stared at him, then laughed a bit unsteadily. “Mr. Brainard and I quarrel--what nonsense! Who put such an idea in your head, sir?” “Your footman, Murray, has testified that he overheard you exclaim, ‘No! No!’ on the portico there,” pointing to the long windows. “And after you had dashed by him into the house Murray found Mr. Brainard lying overcome on the ground.” Millicent never removed her eyes from the coroner; she seemed drinking in his words, half unable to believe them. “Murray saw us?” she stammered, half to herself. “I had no idea others were about.” Abruptly she checked her hasty speech, and her determined chin set in obstinate lines. “Apparently you know everything that transpired last night. Then why question me?” she demanded. “We do not know everything,” replied Coroner Black patiently. “For instance, we do not know who murdered Bruce Brainard.” His words struck home. She reeled in her seat, and but for Thorne’s supporting arm would have fallen to the floor. “Murdered!” she gasped. “Murdered? You must be mistaken.” “Unfortunately, Miss Porter, the medical evidence proves conclusively that it was murder and not suicide. Now,” continued Black, eying her watchfully, “we want your aid in tracking the murderer--” “I know nothing--_nothing_!” she burst in passionately. “I never saw Mr. Brainard again after he went upstairs; I slept soundly all last night, and heard nothing.” “Even if you know nothing about the happenings last night, perhaps you can still tell us something which may prove a clue,” began Black, and his manner grew more earnest. “Did Mr. Brainard ever tell you that he had enemies?” “No.” “Did he ever mention that his life had been threatened?” persisted Black. “No.” Millicent was white to the lips, and she held out her hands pleadingly. “Indeed, gentlemen, I cannot help you--why ask me questions that I cannot answer?” The big, raw-boned foreman of the jury met her eyes and moved awkwardly, but before he could think what to say Coroner Black again addressed her. “There are certain formalities to be gone through, Miss Porter.” As he spoke he walked over to the center table and picked up the blood-stained razor, holding it directly under the rays of the nearest lamp. “Kindly look at this razor and tell us if you know to whom it belongs.” If the razor had been Medusa’s head it could have held no more deadly fascination for Millicent. She sat as if carved from stone. Coroner Black repeated his question once, and then again--still no response. Beverly Thorne broke the tense stillness. “Did Dr. Noyes bid you good-by before departing, Miss Porter?” he asked. Galvanized into action, Millicent sprang from her seat, and, before anyone guessed her intention or any hand could stay her, she dashed from the library. Coroner Black made a hasty step toward the door, but Thorne detained him. “Suppose you sum up the case to the jury,” he suggested, and resumed his seat. CHAPTER V