the time-table seemed to shrink into insignificance, and the Coroner tossed it aside and asked to see my next exhibit.
A little chagrined at the apparent unimportance of my clues, I produced the handkerchief.
"This lay on the foot of the bed," I said; "I noticed it only because it bears initials which are not those of Mr. Pembroke."
"W. S. G.," read the Coroner as he examined the corner of the handkerchief. "Do you recognize those initials, Miss Pembroke?"
"No;" and the girl's face this time expressed mere blank amazement; "I know of no one with those initials. It is a man's handkerchief?"
"Yes," replied the Coroner, holding up to view the large square of linen; "And it is of fine texture and dainty finish."
"And beautifully hand-embroidered," said Miss Pembroke, as she rose from her seat and took the handkerchief in her hand.
She seemed in a quite different mood now. Apparently the handkerchief had roused her curiosity. She turned to Charlotte with it, saying, "You've never seen this before, have you, Charlotte?"
"No, Miss Janet; I nebber seed dat hank'chif befo'. Dat's sure! It ain't Marse Pembroke's, nor it aint's Master George's, and dat's all de men dey is in dis fambly."
"It couldn't have been left by Mr. Leroy," went on Miss Pembroke, musingly; "I cannot explain it. It's a mystery to me."
She returned the handkerchief to the Coroner, and resumed her seat beside Laura.
"It would seem," said Mr. Ross, "that whoever left this handkerchief in Mr. Pembroke's room, was a man of refined tastes,—but we must defer definite assumption of that sort until after further inquiry. You have something else to show us, Mr. Landon?"
Without a word I handed him the two stubs of theatre tickets.
"National Theatre," he read. "Your uncle never went to the theatre, Miss Pembroke?" he inquired.
"Never," she answered, quietly.
"You sometimes go yourself?"
"Occasionally, yes. But I know nothing of those tickets. I have never been to the National Theatre."
I was glad to hear this, for the National Theatre, though entirely reputable, was of the Music Hall class, and it pleased me that Janet Pembroke did not incline to that type of entertainment.
In response to inquiries, Charlotte asserted volubly, and George Lawrence haughtily, that they knew nothing of these mysterious bits of pasteboard. The only inference was, then, that they had been dropped in Mr. Pembroke's room by some one who was calling on him recently.
And then, as a final offering to the mysterious accumulation of evidence, I handed to the Coroner the torn telegram I had found in the waste basket. It had been torn across but once, and was easily pieced together. The Coroner read it aloud:
"Expect me on Wednesday evening. Signed, J. S. Sent from East Lynnwood, New Jersey. H'm, that links it to the Lackawanna time-table, as East Lynnwood is on a branch of that road."
"Are you sure of that?" asked George Lawrence.
"No, I'm not sure," returned Mr. Ross; "but it's my impression that East Lynnwood is off that way, somewhere."
"I'm not sure, myself," said Lawrence, and no one present seemed to know where East Lynnwood was, and the time-table was only for stations on the main line, not to branches. I determined to look it up for myself as soon as the inquest was over, for surely these hints I had picked up must lead somewhere.
"Do you know who J. S. may be?" the Coroner asked of Miss Pembroke.
"No," she replied, briefly, but again I had a conviction that she was not speaking truthfully. The very vehemence with which she spoke seemed to me to betoken a desperate intention to hide the truth, but of this I could not be sure.
"But if your Uncle received a telegram, bidding him expect a caller last evening, would you not be likely to know about it?"
"Not necessarily," returned Miss Pembroke; "My Uncle never informed me of his business appointments or arrangements. But no one did call upon him last evening, of that I'm certain."
"The telegram may have been a blind," said one of the jurors, wagging his head sagaciously. He seemed to think he had said something exceedingly clever, but Coroner Ross paid no heed to him. Indeed the Coroner seemed to care little about material clues, and was anxious to continue his verbal inquiries.
After a few more questions, of no definite importance, I was excused, and my sister Laura was called to the stand.
Her evidence regarding the occurrences which led to our introduction on the scene, was practically an echo of my own, and consequently not of direct importance. The Coroner endeavored to learn from her something concerning the unpleasant relations between Mr. Pembroke and his niece, but though Laura had expressed herself often and frankly to me on the subject, she would say nothing in public concerning it. She declared that she was totally unacquainted with the Pembrokes, and had never spoken to Miss Janet until that morning, and had never been in their apartment before.
Of course she was soon excused, and next Charlotte, the colored servant, was called.
She responded in a state of terrified excitement. She was nervously loquacious, and Mr. Ross was obliged to command her to answer his questions as shortly as possible, and not dilate on them or express any opinions.
"At what hour did you rise?"
"'Bout seben, sah."
"Did you then prepare breakfast?"
"Yes, sah—bacon 'n' eggs, an' cereal, an'——"
"Never mind what the meal consisted of. Did you see any one before you served breakfast?"
"Only the hall boy, when I went to take the lettahs, sah."
"He rang the bell?"
"Yes, sah. He allus does. An' I dun gib de do' a yank, but dat ol' chain held it. I 'clar to goodness, I can't nebber 'member dat chain."
"Have you been with this household long?"
"I's been here six weeks, sah. But I was gwine to leave, any way. I couldn't stan' de way Mr. Pembroke called me names, sah. Miss Janet she's mighty nice lady, but de ol' massa he was too much fo' anybody."
Chapter VIII.
An Awful Implication
"Never mind your opinions of your employers," commanded the coroner sternly. "Simply answer my questions. What did you do with the letters?"
"I took 'em to Miss Janet."
"Is that your custom?"
"Yes, sah. She looks 'em ober, an' if dey's bills she doesn't gib 'em to Mr. Pembroke till after breakfast, sah."
"Where was Miss Pembroke when you gave her the mail?"
"In her own room, sah, jes' finishin' dressin'."
"What did you do next?"
"Den Miss Janet she tole me to knock on Mr. Pembroke's door, so he'd know breakfas' was ready. An' I did, but he didn't answer. Gen'ally he hollers at me when I knock. So I knock again an' again, an' when he don't holler out cross-like, I 'mos' know sumpin's wrong. So I went and tol' Miss Janet dat her uncle didn't answer back. An' she say: 'Oh, pshaw, he's asleep. Knock again.'"
"Did you do so?"
"Yes, sah. An' still he don't holler out ugly, like he always do. Den I got awful scart, an' I begged Miss Janet to go in his room. An' den she did. An' she scream out: 'Oh, Charlotte, uncle has had a stroke or sumpin! What shall we do?' An' I say: 'Oh, Miss Janet, send for de doctor.' An' she telephoned right