Mr. Carleton pointed toward the doorway, and Marie and I went in together."
"You knew at once that Miss Van Norman was not alive?"
"I was not sure, but Marie went toward her, and then turned away with another of her horrid screams, and I felt that Miss Van Norman must be dead."
"What did Mr. Carleton say?"
"He said nothing. He—he pointed to the written paper on the table."
"Which you had written yourself?"
"Yes, but he didn't know that." Cicely spoke eagerly, as if saying something of importance. "He thought she wrote it."
"Never mind that point for the moment. But I must now ask you to explain that written message which you have declared that you yourself wrote."
At this Cicely's manner changed. She became again the obstinate and defiant woman who had answered the coroner's earlier questions.
"I refuse to explain it."
"Consider a moment," said Mr. Benson quietly. "Sooner or later—perhaps at a trial—you will be obliged to explain this matter. How much better, then, to confide in us now, and perhaps lead to an immediate solution of the mystery."
Cicely pondered a moment, then she said, "I have nothing to conceal, I will tell you. I did write that paper, and it was the confession of my heart. I am very miserable, and when I wrote it I quite intended to take my own life. When I was called to go to Miss Van Norman in the library, I gathered up some notes and lists from my desk to take to her. In my haste I must have included that paper without knowing it, for when I reached my room I could not find it. And then—then when I saw it—there on the table—I" Cicely had again grown nervous and excited. Her voice trembled, her eyes filled with tears, and, fearing a nervous collapse, Mr. Benson hurried on to other questions.
"Whom does that S. in your note stand for."
"That I shall never tell." The determination in her voice convinced him that it was useless to insist on that point, so the coroner went on.
"Perhaps we have no right to ask. Now you must tell me some other things, and, believe me, my questions are not prompted by curiosity, but are necessary to the discovery of the truth. Why did Mr. Carleton point to that paper?"
"He—he seemed so shocked and stunned that he was almost unable to speak. I suppose he thought that would explain why she had killed herself."
"But she hadn't killed herself."
"But he thought she had, and he thought that paper proved it."
"But why had he need to prove it, and to you?"
"I don't know. I don't know what he thought! I don't know what I thought myself after I reached the library door and looked in and saw that dreadful sight! Oh, I shall see it all my life!" At the memory Cicely broke down again and sank into her chair, shaking with convulsive sobs.
Mr. Benson did not disturb her further, but proceeded to question the others.
The account of Marie, the maid, merely served to corroborate what Cicely had said. Marie, too, had heard Carleton's cry for help, and, throwing on a dressing-gown, had run down-stairs to Madeleine's room. Not finding her mistress there, she had hurried down to the first floor, reaching the lower hall but a few minutes after Cicely did. She said also that it was just about half-past eleven by the clock in her own room when she heard Mr. Carleton's cry.
"You knew who it was that had called out so loudly?" asked Mr. Benson.
"No, m'sieu; I heard only the shriek as of one in great disaster. I ran to Miss Van Norman's room, as that was my first duty."
"Were you not in attendance upon her?"
"No; she had sent me the message by Miss Dupuy, that I need not attend her when she retired."
"Did this often occur?"
"Not often; but sometimes when Miss Van Norman sat up late, by herself, she would excuse me at an earlier hour. She was most kind and considerate of everybody."
"Then when at last you saw Miss Van Norman in the library, what did you do?"
"Mon Dieu! I shrieked! Why not? I was amazed, shocked, but, above all, desolated! It was a cruel scene. I knew not what to do, so, naturally, I shrieked."
Marie's French shrug almost convinced her hearers that truly that was the only thing to do on such an occasion.
"And now," said Coroner Benson, "can you tell us of anything, any incident or any knowledge of your own, that will throw any light on this whole matter?"
Marie's pretty face took on a strange expression. It was not fear or terror, but a sort of perplexity. She gave a furtive glance at Mr. Carleton and then at Miss Morton, and hesitated.
At last she spoke, slowly:
"If monsieur could perhaps word his question a little differently—with more of a definiteness—"
"Very well; do you know anything of Miss Van Norman's private affairs that would assist us in discovering who killed her."
"No, monsieur," said Marie promptly, and with a look of relief.
"Did Miss Van Norman ever, in the slightest way, express any intention or desire to end her life?"
"Never, monsieur."
"Do you think she was glad and happy in the knowledge of her fast-approaching wedding-day?"
"I am sure of it;" and Marie's tone was that of one who well knew whereof she spoke.
"That is all, then, for the present;" and Marie, with another sidelong, curious glance at Miss Morton, resumed her seat.
Kitty French and Molly Gardner were questioned, but they told nothing that would throw any light on the matter. They had heard the cry, and while hastily dressing had heard the general commotion in the house. They had thought it must be a fire, and not until they reached the library did they know what had really happened.
"And then," said Kitty indignantly, in conclusion of her own recital, "we were not allowed to stay with the others, but were sent to our rooms. So how can we give any evidence?"
It was plain to be seen, Miss French felt herself defrauded of an opportunity that should have been hers, but Miss Gardner was of quite a different mind. She answered in whispered monosyllables the questions put by the coroner, and as she knew no more than Kitty of the whole matter, she was not questioned much.
Robert Fessenden smiled a little at the different attitudes of the two girls. He knew Kitty was eager to hear all the exciting details, while Molly shrank from the whole subject. However, as they were such minor witnesses, the coroner paid little serious attention to them or to their statements.
Miss Morton's testimony came next. Fessenden regarded her with interest, as, composed and calm, she waited the coroner's interrogations.
She was deliberate and careful in making her replies, and it seemed to the young detective as if she knew nothing whatever about the whole affair, but was trying to imply that she knew a great deal.
"You went to your room when the others did, at about ten o'clock?" asked Mr. Benson.
"Yes, but I did not retire at once."
"Did you hear any sounds that caused you alarm?"
"No, not alarm. Curiosity, perhaps, but that is surely pardonable to a naturally timid woman in a strange house."
"Then you did hear sounds. Can you describe them?"
"I do not think they were other than those made by the servants attending to their duties. But the putting on of coal or the fastening of windows are noticeable sounds when one is not accustomed to them."
"You could discern, then, that it was the shovelling of coal or the fastening of windows that you heard?"
"No, I could not. My hearing is extremely acute, but as my room is