than a man's
hand. It grew larger, and became an osprey on its way to the sea in
search of a fish.

As the car drew up in front of the Carwell mansion, from the bell of
which fluttered a dismal length of crepe, a man stepped from the shadow
of the gate posts and held out a paper to Harry Bartlett.

"What is it?" asked Bartlett.

"A subpoena," was the rather gruff answer.

"A subpoena? What for?"

"The coroner's inquest. You'll have to appear and give evidence. They're
going to have an inquest to find out more about Mr. Carwell's death.
That's all I know. I'm from police headquarters. I was told to wait
around here, as you were expected, and to serve that on you. Don't
forget to be there. It's a court order," and the man slunk away.

"An inquest," murmured Bartlett, as he looked at the paper in his hand.
"I thought they weren't going to have any," and he glanced quickly at
Colonel Ashley.

CHAPTER VIII. ON SUSPICION

Colonel Robert Lee Ashley was used to surprises. This was natural,
considering his calling, and at some of the surprises he was a silent
spectator, while at others he furnished the surprise. In this case he
served in his former capacity, merely noting the rather startled look
on the face of Harry Bartlett when handed the subpoena to the coroner's
inquest.

"I thought they weren't going to have any," Bartlett repeated, but
whether to himself in a sort of daze, to Colonel Ashley, or to the man
from headquarters was not clear. At any rate Colonel Ashley answered him
by saying:

"You never can tell what Jersey justice is going to do. Coroner's
inquests are not usual in this state, but they are lawful."

"But why do they consider one necessary?" asked Bartlett, as they
prepared to enter the house of death.

"That, my dear sir, I don't know. Perhaps the county physician may have
requested it, or the prosecutor of the pleas. He may want to be backed
up by the verdict of twelve men before taking any action."

"But if Mr. Carwell's death was due to suicide who can be held guilty
but himself?"

"No one. But I thought you said there was a doubt as to its being
suicide," commented the detective.

"Miss Carwell doubts," returned Bartlett; "and I admit that it does seem
strange that a man of Mr. Carwell's character would do such a thing,
particularly when he had shown no previous signs of being in trouble.
But you can never tell."

"No, you can never tell," agreed Colonel Ashley, and none knew,