, admitted, with some manifestation
of shame, that he desired to see for himself whether she was really in
as strong and healthy a condition as he had always been told; his
pecuniary embarrassments being such that he could not prevent his mind
from dwelling upon possibilities which, under any other circumstances,
he would have been ashamed to consider.

"And did you see Mrs. Clemmens?" the coroner inquired.

"Yes, sir; I did."

"When?"

"On Tuesday, sir; about noon."

The answer was given almost with bravado, and the silence among the
various auditors became intense.

"You admit, then, that you were in the widow's house the morning she was
murdered, and that you had an interview with her a few minutes before
the fatal blow was struck?"

"I do."

There was doggedness in the tone, and doggedness in the look that
accompanied it. The coroner moved a little forward in his chair and
uttered his next question with deep gravity.

"Did you approach the widow's house by the road and enter into it by
means of the front door overlooking the lane?"

"I did."

"And did you meet no one in the lane, or see no one at the windows of
any of the houses as you came by?"

"No, sir."

"How long did you stay in this house, and what was the result of the
interview which you had with Mrs. Clemmens?"

"I stayed, perhaps, ten minutes, and I learned nothing from Mrs.
Clemmens, save that she was well and hearty, and likely to live out her
threescore years and ten for all hint that her conversation or
appearance gave me."

He spoke almost with a tone of resentment; his eyes glowed darkly, and a
thrill of horror sped through the room as if they felt that the murderer
himself stood before them.

"You will tell me what was said in this interview, if you please, and
whether the widow knew who you were; and, if so, whether any words of
anger passed between you?"

The face of the young man burned, and he looked at the coroner and then
at the jurymen, as if he would like to challenge the whole crew, but the
color that showed in his face was the flush of shame, or, so thought Mr.
Byrd, and in his reply, when he gave it, there was a bitterness of
self-scorn that reminded the detective more of the mortification of a
gentleman caught in an act of meanness than the secret alarm of a man
who had been beguiled into committing a dastardly crime.

"Mrs. Clemmens was evidently a woman of some spirit," said he, forcing
out his words with sull