arge sums, with
all his papers, in the drawers of his cabinet, and that they should be
in so disturbed a state was not unusual. They were all in order, closed
and locked, when he started for town the morning of that fatal day, but
he often left them open and in disorder, only then locking his library
door. When she left for town, two hours after him, the library door was
open, also the side window. She could throw no light on the tragedy. She
had no idea who the stranger could be. She had not seen Philippe for
nearly a year, and believed him to be at Key West.

Alphonse, the colored boy, was so terrified by the tragedy and by his
detention under the same roof with the murdered man that his evidence
was only dragged from him. Nobody suspected the poor fellow of
complicity in the crime, yet he seemed to consider himself as on trial.
He swore he had entered the library only once during the afternoon or
evening, and that was to close the shutters when the storm broke. He
left a lamp burning low in the hall, according to custom, though he felt
sure his master and mistress would remain in town over-night rather
than attempt to come down. He had slept soundly, as negroes will,
despite the gale and the roar of the rain that drowned all other noises.
It was late the next morning when his mother called him. The old mammy
was frightened to see the front gate open, the deep water in the
streets, and the muddy footprints on the veranda. She called Alphonse,
who found that his master must have come in during the night, after all,
for the lamp was taken from the hall table, the library door was closed
and locked, so was the front door, also barred within, which it had not
been when he went to bed. He tapped at the library, got no answer, so
tiptoed to his master's bedroom; it was empty and undisturbed. Neither
had Madame nor Mademoiselle Nin Nin been to their rooms. Then he was
troubled, and then the soldiers came and called him out into the rain.
They could tell the rest.

Cram's story is already told, and he could add nothing. The officials
tried to draw the batteryman out as to the relations existing between
Lieutenant Waring and Madame, but got badly "bluffed." Cram said he had
never seen anything in the faintest degree worthy of comment. Had he
heard anything? Yes, but nothing worthy of consideration, much less of
repetition. Had he not loaned Mr. Waring his team and carriage to drive
Madame to town that morning? No. How did he