not find her at home. When he at last did see her it was at the
inquest, where he had gone to learn all that he could of the
circumstances surrounding the murder.

There was a risk in attending. He recognized that. But he was moved
by an imperative urge to find out all that was possible of the affair.
The force that drove him was the need in his heart to exonerate his
friend. Though he recognized the weight of evidence against her, he
could not believe her guilty. Under tremendous provocation it might be
in character for her to have shot his uncle in self-defense or while in
extreme anger. But all his knowledge of her cried out that she could
never have chloroformed him, tied him up, then taken his life while he
was helpless. She was too fine and loyal to her code, too good a
sportsman, far too tender-hearted, for such a thing.

Yet the evidence assaulted this conviction of his soul. If the Wild
Rose in the dingy court-room had been his friend of the outdoor spaces,
he would have rejected as absurd the possibility that she had killed
his uncle. But his heart sank when he looked at this wan-faced woman
who came late and slipped inconspicuously into a back seat, whose eyes
avoided his, who was so plainly keyed up to a tremendously high pitch.
She was dressed in a dark-blue tailored serge and a black sailor hat,
beneath the rim of which the shadows on her face were dark.

The room was jammed with people. Every aisle was packed and hundreds
were turned away. In the audience was a scattering of fashionably
dressed women, for it was possible the inquest might develop a
sensation.

The coroner was a short, fat, little man with a highly developed sense
of his importance. It was his hour, and he made the most of it. His
methods were his own. The young assistant district attorney lounging
by the table played second fiddle.

The first witnesses developed the movements of Cunningham during the
evening of the twenty-third. He had dined at the City Club, and had
left there after dinner to go to his apartment. To a club member
dining with him he had mentioned an appointment at his rooms with a
lady.

A rustling wave of excitement swept the benches. Those who had come to
seek sensations had found their first thrill. Kirby drew in his breath
sharply. He leaned forward, not to miss a word.

"Did he mention the name of the lady, Mr. Blanton?" asked the coroner,
washing the backs of his hands with the palms.

"