The solicitor of Mrs. Courtenay's family, to whom she had sent asking him to be present on her behalf, rose at this juncture and addressing the coroner, said: "I should like to put a question to the witness, sir. I represent the deceased's family." "As you wish," replied the coroner. "But do you consider such a course wise at this stage of the inquiry? There must be an adjournment." He understood the coroner's objection and, acquiescing, sat down. Nurse Kate and the cook were called, and afterwards Ethelwynn, who, dressed in black and wearing a veil, looked pale and fragile as she drew off her glove in order to take the oath. As she stood there our eyes met for an instant; then she turned towards her questioner, bracing herself for the ordeal. "When did you last see the deceased alive?" asked the coroner, after the usual formal inquiry as to her name and connection with the family. "At ten o'clock in the evening. Dr. Boyd visited him, and found him much better. After the doctor had gone I went upstairs and found the nurse with him, giving him his medicine. He was still sitting before the fire." "Was he in his usual spirits?" "Quite." "What was the character of your conversation with him? I understand that Mrs. Courtenay, your sister, was out at the time. Did he remark upon her absence?" "Yes. He said it was a wet night, and he hoped she would not take cold, for she was so careless of herself." The coroner bent to his paper and wrote down her reply. "And you did not see him alive again." "No." "You entered the room after he was dead, I presume?" "No. I--I hadn't the courage," she faltered. "They told me that he was dead--that he had been stabbed to the heart." Again the coroner bent to his writing. What, I wondered, would those present think if I produced the little piece of stained chenille which I kept wrapped in tissue paper and hidden in my fusee-box? To them it, of course, seemed quite natural that a delicate woman should hesitate to view a murdered man. But if they knew of my discovery they would detect that she was an admirable actress--that her horror of the dead was feigned, and that she was not telling the truth. I, who knew her countenance so well, saw even through her veil how agitated she was, and with what desperate resolve she was concealing the awful anxiety consuming her. "One witness has told us that the deceased was very much afraid of burglars," observed the coroner. "Had he ever spoken to you on the subject?" "Often. At his country house some years ago a burglary was committed, and one of the burglars fired at him but missed. I think that unnerved him, for he always kept a loaded revolver in the drawer of a table beside his bed. In addition to this he had electrical contrivances attached to the windows, so as to ring an alarm." "But it appears they did not ring," said the coroner, quickly. "They were out of order, the servants tell me. The bells had been silent for a fortnight or so."