his, one at a time, if you don't mind, Mr. Sloane," the
detective suggested, watching Webster.

The young man, staring with fascinated intensity at Judge Wilton, seemed
to experience some new horror as he listened.

"He was on the other side of it," the judge continued, "and practically
in the same position that I was. We faced each other across the body. I
think that describes the discovery, as you call it. We immediately
examined the woman, looking for the wound, and found it. When we saw she
was dead, we came in to wake you--and try to get a doctor. I told Berne
to do that."

During the last few sentences Hastings had been walking slowly from his
chair to the library door and back, his hands gouged deep into his
trouser-pockets, folds of his night-shirt protruding from and falling
over the waistband of the trousers, the raincoat hanging baggily from
his shoulders. Ludicrous as the costume was, however, the old man so
dominated them still that none of them, not even Wilton, questioned his
authority.

And yet, the thing he was doing should have appealed to them as
noteworthy. A man of less power could not have accomplished it. Coming
from a sound sleep to the scene of a murder, he had literally picked up
these men who had discovered it and who must be closely touched by it,
had overcome their agitation, had herded them into the house and, with
amazing promptness, had set about the task of getting from them the
stories of what they knew and what they had done.

Appreciating his opportunity, he had determined to bring to light at
once everything they knew. He devoted sudden attention now to Webster,
whom he knew by reputation--a lawyer thirty years of age, brilliant in
the criminal courts, and at present striving for a foothold in the more
remunerative ranks of civil practice. He had never been introduced to
him, however, before meeting him at Sloanehurst.

"Who touched that body first--Mr. Webster?" he demanded, his slow
promenade uninterrupted as he kept his eyes on the lawyer's.

"Judge--I don't know, I believe," Webster replied uncertainly. "Who did,
judge?"

"I want your recollection," Hastings insisted, kindly in spite of the
unmistakable command of his tone. "That's why I asked you."

"Why?"

"For one thing, it might go far toward showing who was really first on
the scene."

"I see; but I really don't remember. I'm not sure that either of us
touched the body--just then. I think we both drew back, ins