When questioned as to Lady Wilmersley, he was rather non-committal. No, he had never believed her to be dangerous.--Had she seemed happy? No, she cried often.--Did his lordship ever ill-treat her? Not that he knew of. His lordship was very patient with her tears.--Did he know how she could have obtained a pistol? Yes, there was one concealed on his master's desk. He had discovered that it was missing.--How could a pistol lie concealed _on_ a desk? It was hidden inside an ancient steel gauntlet, ostensibly used as a paperweight. Mustapha had found it one day quite accidentally.--Did he tell his lordship of his discovery? No. His master was always afraid of being spied upon.--Why? He did not know.--Did Mustapha know of any enemy of his lordship who was likely to have sought such a revenge? No. His master's enemies were not in England.--Then his lordship had enemies? As all men have, so had he.--But he had no special enemy? An enemy is an enemy, but his master's enemies were not near.--How could he be so sure of that? He would have had word.--How? From whom? From his, Mustapha's friends.--Did his lordship fear his enemies would follow him to England? At first, perhaps, but not lately.--If his lordship's enemies had found him, would they have been likely to kill him? Who can tell? The heart of man is very evil.--But he knew no one who could have done this thing? No one.--Did he believe his mistress had done it? Mustapha hesitated for the first time. "They say so," he finally answered. "But you, what do you think?" insisted the coroner. "The ways of women are dark." "Do you believe her ladyship killed your master--Yes or No?" repeated the coroner impatiently. "It is not for me to say," replied Mustapha with unruffled dignity. The coroner, feeling himself rebuked, dismissed the man with a hurried "That will do." Mrs. Valdriguez was next called. She was a tall, thin woman between fifty and sixty. Her black hair, freely sprinkled with silver, was drawn into a tight knot at the back of her small head. Her pale, haggard face, with its finely-chiselled nose, thin-lipped mouth, and slightly-retreating chin, was almost beautified by her large, sunken eyes, which still glowed with extraordinary brilliancy. Her black dress was austere in its simplicity and she wore no ornament except a small gold cross suspended on her bosom. The woman was obviously nervous. She held her hands tightly clasped in front of her, and her lips twitched from time to time. She spoke so low that Cyril had to lean forward to catch her answers, but her English was perfectly fluent. It was chiefly her accent and intonation which betrayed her foreign birth. "You lived here in the time of the late Lady Wilmersley, did you not?" began the coroner. "Yes, sir." "In what capacity?" "As lady's maid, sir." "When did you leave here, and why?" "I left when her ladyship died." "Did you return to Spain?" "Yes, sir."