"The murder is still shrouded in mystery, Mr. Corcoran," he replied quietly. "We expected you here for the funeral yesterday." Corcoran's face clouded over. "I was in Richmond and reached Washington late in the evening. I telegraphed my clerk to take Paul's will out of my office vault and bring it to the house this morning. I have it here," tapping his brief case. He turned to Alan. "Did I understand correctly from the papers that Mrs. Nash and her niece, Miss Elizabeth Carter, are staying here?" "Yes," replied Alan, looking at him in some surprise. "Very well; then please ask them to be present at the reading of the will. And, eh," looking about him, "do you prefer to have the reading take place here?" Alan hesitated and glanced questioningly at Trenholm. "How about it?" he asked. "This is all right," agreed Trenholm. "Will you ask Miss Carter to join us, Alan? I must speak to one of my men," and the sheriff unceremoniously opened one of the doors leading into the garden and walked around the house. "Don't forget Mrs. Nash," called out Corcoran, as Alan hurried into the dining room. "She is ill in bed," hastily broke in Roberts, as Alan paused in uncertainty at the lawyer's hail. "Ah, then ask her husband to be present, if he is here," directed the lawyer. Corcoran moved over to a wicker table and Roberts helped him remove some magazines and books. Taking up his brief case, the former unlocked it, drew out a pad of blank paper, a pencil, and an official-looking document with an imposing seal. Without unfolding it, he put the document down in front of him and addressed Roberts. "Paul was a queer character," he admitted. "In many ways a lovable fellow, with a curious, suspicious streak running through his make-up. In the last few years he has trusted no one--entirely." Roberts' expression grew serious. "Cheerful and morose by turns," he said. "I never knew how I would find him, of late years--happy as a lark or down in the depths. I attribute it," he lowered his voice, "to shell-shock." "It may be," agreed Corcoran. "But you recall his mother. Ah, here is Miss Carter," as Betty appeared, dressed in black, "and Dr. Nash." The lawyer shook hands with them gravely. "Now, if you will select chairs we will go ahead with the reading of Mr. Abbott's will. Alan," as the latter made a belated appearance, "ask Mr. Trenholm to come back." Betty had selected a chair near the entrance to the library and out of the direct sunlight. From where she sat she caught a glimpse through the portières of Trenholm standing talking to a man. He advanced with Alan a moment later and entering the sunparlor, closed not only the portières but the folding doors as well. Corcoran waited until every one was seated, then took a chair himself, and, picking up the will, put on his eyeglasses.