se?"

"One thing. The bullet slanted into the head toward the right."

"Where was the chair in which the deceased was seated? I mean in what
part of the room."

"Pushed close to the left-hand wall and parallel to it."

"Very close?"

"Touching it."

"Under the circumstances could the revolver have been fired so that the
bullet could have taken the course it did if held in the right hand?"

"Hardly. Not unless it was held with extreme awkwardness."

"In your judgment, then, the revolver was fired by a left-handed
person?"

"That is my opinion."

The coroner swelled like a turkey cock as he waved the attorney to take
charge again.

Lane's heart drummed fast. He did not look across the room toward the
girl in the blue tailored suit. But he saw her, just as clearly as
though his eyes had been fastened on her. The detail that stood out in
his imagination was the right arm set in splints and resting in a linen
sling suspended from the neck.

_Temporarily Rose McLean was left-handed_.

"Was it possible that the deceased could have shot himself?"

"Do you mean, is it possible that somebody could have tied him to the
chair after he was dead?"

"Yes."

The surgeon, taken by surprise, hesitated. "That's possible,
certainly."

James Cunningham took the witness chair after the police officers who
had arrived at the scene of the tragedy with the surgeon had finished
their testimony. One point brought out by the officers was that in the
search of the rooms the two thousand dollars was not found. The oil
broker gave information as to his uncle's affairs.

"You knew your uncle well?" the lawyer asked presently.

"Intimately."

"And were on good terms with him?"

"The best."

"Had he ever suggested to you that he might commit suicide?"

"Never," answered the oil broker with emphasis. "He was the last man
in the world one would have associated with such a thought."

"Did he own a revolver?"

"No, not to my knowledge. He had an automatic."

"What caliber was it?"

"I'm not quite sure--about a .38, I think."

"When did you see it last?"

"I don't recollect."

The prosecuting attorney glanced at his notes.

"You are his next of kin?"

"My brother and I are his nephews. He had no nearer relatives."

"You are his only nephews--his only near relatives?"

Cunningham hesitated, for just the blinking of an eye. He did not want
to bring Kirby into his testimony if he could help it. That m