the coroner.

One of the newcomers, the less heavily built of the two, compelled
immediate attention by reason of his personality. He carried himself
with an air of certainty, as if accustomed to meeting grave
problems--and solving them. As he stood at the right of the coroner, his
keen gray eyes, set deep beneath the arched outline of his eyebrows,
swept the faces of the sorrowing employes, as if trying to read their
inmost thoughts. Despite the severe cast of his features, there was
something engaging about the man, some magic of personality, that drew
one irresistibly toward him.

"Just in time to hear the most important witness," the coroner said to
him, at the same time beckoning the office boy to come forward.

The two visitors and the coroner seated themselves at one of the
flat-top desks, while the boy, pale, trembling, as if conscious of some
guilty act, faced them with fear written in his youthful countenance.
The coroner solemnly administered the customary oath.

"You know what will happen to you if you tell a lie?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, I'll be sent to prison," the boy answered timorously.

"Now what is your name?"

"Samuel Johnson."

The witness further confided that he had been employed in the
establishment three years, that he had seen Mr. Whitmore enter the
office and that thereafter he had occupied a seat within a foot of the
door until one of the clerks called his attention to the peculiar
attitude in which his employer had fallen in the chair.

"What did Mr. Whitmore say to you when he arrived this morning?"
inquired the coroner.

"He'd been away for six weeks, and he put his hand on my head like he
was glad to see me and said that no one was to be admitted to the office
and I wasn't to bring in any visitor's card." The boy sobbed
convulsively as he recalled the last words of his employer.

"Were any visitors here this morning?"

"No, sir."

"Did any of the clerks enter the office?"

"No, sir."

"Did you hear a shot fired, or any other peculiar sound?"

"I did not."

"Are you positive?"

"I hope I may die on the spot if it ain't so," the witness said
fervently.

The coroner's eyes alternated between his two visitors. The smaller of
the two devoted himself to a long scrutiny of the boy's countenance.

"Mr. Whitmore was absent for six weeks?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know where he was?"

"Mr. Beard told me to tell all visitors that Mr. Whitmore was away on