of—— Then I remembered her manner that had so puzzled me. But that she could explain, of course. As to exclusive opportunity, that was mere foolishness. I remembered the chained door, but of course there must have been other ways of ingress to a professional burglar. I hastily thought over the windows of our own apartment. There were three large front ones on Sixty-second Street, and the others were all on air-shafts or a fire-escape.
Ah, that was it—the fire-escape!
Then I remembered the inspector's statement. Had there been a possible way to get in that house that night, surely he would have found it. That would not require very clever detective work.
Suddenly a thought struck me, which turned my heart to ice. It was I who had first testified that the chain was on the door when Charlotte opened it that morning! If I had not mentioned it, perhaps no one would have thought of it, and it would have been assumed that the criminal forced his way in at the front door.
That would have left a loophole for doubt. Now they said there was none. Oh, how could I have been so stupid as to tell of that chain? I who desired only to serve and assist the woman I loved—I had done the one thing, said the one word, that gave those men reason to say she had "exclusive opportunity"!
That, then, was why Doctor Masterson had looked so perturbed at my testimony. That was why he was worried and nervous at Charlotte's mention of the chain. That was why he looked relieved when Laura completed her account without referring to that awful bit of evidence.
And why didn't Laura refer to it? Perhaps she thought it would be a point which couldn't be explained, which was as inexplicable to her as to me, but which no more proved Miss Pembroke guilty than it proved the angels in heaven to be criminals.
Janet had regained consciousness, but still lay on the couch, with closed eyes, and the inexorable coroner called George Lawrence.
The young man seemed to be controlling himself by a mighty effort.
"I see your implication," he said to the coroner, "and I want you to retract it. My cousin, Miss Pembroke, is incapable of such a thing as you hint, and the mere fact of a chained front door does not preclude other modes of housebreaking. I am by no means sure the windows were all securely fastened last night. Indeed, I am forced to believe they were not, since somebody came in and killed my uncle, and it was not my cousin Janet."
"There has been no accusation," said the coroner coldly. "Will you now give us your testimony?"
"I can tell you nothing to throw any light on the mystery," said George Lawrence, who was, apparently, holding himself well in hand. "I called here yesterday afternoon between five and six. My uncle was very cross and grumpy, and gave me no pleasant word while I was here. He was not at that time definitely angry, but merely testy and irritable. I talked for a time with Janet, and went away about six.
"Where did you go then?"
"I went back to my own apartment in Washington Square."
"And then?"
"I dressed, and went to dine with some friends in Sixtieth street. Of course this can be verified."
Lawrence spoke with an air of superciliousness, almost contempt, at this detailed questioning, but the Coroner looked at him impassively.
"We are not doubting your word," he said; "you spent the evening at the house where you dined?"
"Yes; I left there at eleven o'clock, and then I went directly home. I reached my apartment at eleven twenty-five."
"How do you know the time so exactly?"
"I happen to be sure of the hour, because the hall boy told me the time by the office clock. He then took me up in the elevator, and I went at once to my rooms. I slept all night, and had not yet left my bedroom when my cousin telephoned for me this morning. That is my story, and, as I said, it throws no light on the case. But light shall be thrown on the case, if I have to move heaven and earth to have it thrown. This mystery shall be solved and my cousin freed from the slightest taint of this absurd suspicion!"
I had liked George Lawrence from the first, and this outburst of loyalty to his cousin quite won my heart. It was no more than he ought to have felt, but his spontaneous enthusiasm charmed me. I determined to add my efforts to his own, and it would go hard if between us we did not bring the evil-doer to justice.
I admired the appearance of the young man. Of an athletic type, though perhaps not specially trained, he was well set up, and had that assured air that belongs to so many young New York men.
He especially exhibited self-possession and self-control, and though perhaps he gave more the effect of physical force than of mental strength, yet to my mind he showed bravery and courage both in manner and speech.
Though in no way conspicuous, his clothes were correct, and hung well on his rather graceful figure. Although I had heard he was an artist, he showed no trace of Bohemianism in his make-up. He was rather, it seemed to me, of the type that frequents our best clubs or restaurants.
But what I liked best about the man was his very evident affection and loyalty toward his cousin. As the coroner had said, there had been no definite accusation, and yet it was plain to be seen that as the evidence seemed to point toward either the guilt or the complicity of Janet Pembroke, the jurymen were being influenced by it.
The coroner asked George more questions.
"You carry a latch-key to this apartment?" he asked.
"Yes. I lived here until a few months ago, and I've still kept the key. I go in and out as I like. The chain is never put on in the daytime."
"Is it always on at night?"
"Yes. When I lived here I was usually the last one in at night, and I put on the chain. Since I left, my cousin has told me that she always puts it on when she retires at night."
"You did not get on well with your uncle?"
"I did not. It was because of his bad temper that I went away to live by myself. I hoped, too, that if I were not here to anger him, which I often did, he might be more gentle to Janet."
"Did it turn out that way?"
"I fear not, to any considerable extent. I think he could not control his temper, even if he tried, and it was his custom to vent his wrath on whomever happened to be nearest."
"You also knew of the conditions of your uncle's will?"
"Yes. It was no secret. He had always told us we two were his sole heirs, but, though he seemed willing to leave us his money, he was not generous with it while alive."
"What is your business, Mr. Lawrence?"
"I am an artist—or, at least, an illustrator. I make pictures for books and magazines."
"You find it lucrative?"
"Sufficiently so. My tastes are not extravagant, and I earn enough by my work to gratify my simple ambitions. I trust I shall make a worthy use of my inheritance, but I had hoped not to come into it for many years yet."
This last remark jarred on me. I didn't want to think the young man hypocritical, and yet that attitude as to his inheritance seemed to me not quite ingenuous.
"Did Robert Pembroke have any enemy that you know of?"
"Not that I know of definitely, and none that I would suspect of crime. But I know very little of my uncle's business affairs or his acquaintances. He was not at all communicative, and I was not curious about such matters."
"He had callers occasionally?"
"Yes."
"Of what sort?"
"Business men, his lawyer, various agents who transacted business for him, and sometimes strangers who came to ask contributions for charitable purposes, or perhaps to interest him in financial schemes."
"He always saw these visitors?"
"Yes;