The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(323)

                “He did.”

                “Have you those keys now?”

                “I have not.”

                “What have you done with them? Did you return them to your brother?”

                “No; I see where your inquiries are tending, and I do not suppose you will believe my simple word; but I lost the keys on the day I received them; that is why—”

                “Well, you may continue, Mr. Van Burnam.”

                “I have no more to say; my sentence was not worth completing.”

                The murmur which rose about him seemed to show dissatisfaction; but he remained imperturbable, or rather like a man who did not hear. I began to feel a most painful interest in the inquiry, and dreaded, while I anxiously anticipated, his further examination.

                “You lost the keys; may I ask when and where?”

                “That I do not know; they were missing when I searched for them; missing from my pocket, I mean.”

                “Ah! and when did you search for them?”

                “The next day—after I had heard—of—of what had taken place in my father’s house.”

                The hesitations were those of a man weighing his reply. They told on the jury, as all such hesitations do; and made the Coroner lose an atom of the respect he had hitherto shown this easy-going witness.

                “And you do not know what became of them?”

                “No.”

                “Or into whose hands they fell?”

                “No, but probably into the hands of the wretch—”

                To the astonishment of everybody he was on the verge of vehemence; but becoming sensible of it, he controlled himself with a suddenness that was almost shocking.



                             “Find the murderer of this poor girl,” said he, with a quiet air that was more thrilling than any display of passion, “and ask him where he got the keys with which he opened the door of my father’s house at midnight.”

                Was this a challenge, or just the natural outburst of an innocent man. Neither the jury nor the Coroner seemed to know, the former looking startled and the latter nonplussed. But Mr. Gryce, who had moved now into view, smoothed the head of his cane with quite a loving touch, and did not seem at this moment to feel its inequalities objectionable.

                “We will certainly try to follow your advice,” the Coroner assured him. “Meanwhile we must ask how many rings your wife is in the habit of wearing?”

                “Five. Two on the left hand and three on the right.”

                “Do you know these rings?”

                “I do.”

                “Better than you know her hands?”

                “As well, sir.”

                “Were they on her hands when you parted from her in Haddam?”

                “They were.”

                “Did she always wear them?”