that. Was it a small quantity?
He should not care to say that it was. Would half a pint of arsenic
cause death? Of a club man, no, not necessarily. That was all.

The other testimony submitted to the inquest jury brought out various
facts of a substantive character, but calculated rather to complicate
than to unravel the mystery. The butler swore that on the very day of
the murder he had served his master a half-pint of arsenic at lunch. But
he claimed that this was quite a usual happening with his master. On
cross-examination it appeared that he meant apollinaris. He was certain,
however, that it was half a pint. The butler, it was shown, had been in
Kivas Kelly's employ for twenty years.

The coachman, an Irishman, was closely questioned. He had been in Mr.
Kelly's employ for three years--ever since his arrival from the old
country. Was it true that he had had, on the day of the murder, a
violent quarrel with his master? It was. Had he threatened to kill him?
No. He had threatened to knock his block off, but not to kill him.

The coroner looked at his notes. "Call Alice Delary," he commanded.
There was a deep sensation in the court as Miss Delary quietly stepped
forward to her place in the witness-box.

Tall, graceful and willowy, Alice Delary was in her first burst of
womanhood. Those who looked at the beautiful girl realized that if her
first burst was like this, what would the second, or the third be like?

The girl was trembling, and evidently distressed, but she gave her
evidence in a clear, sweet, low voice. She had been in Mr. Kelly's
employ three years. She was his stenographer. But she came only in the
mornings and always left at lunch-time. The question immediately asked
by the jury--"Where did she generally have lunch?"--was disallowed by
the coroner. Asked by a member of the jury what system of shorthand she
used, she answered, "Pitman's." Asked by another juryman whether she
ever cared to go to moving pictures, she said that she went
occasionally. This created a favourable impression. "Miss Delary," said
the district attorney, "I want to ask if it is your hat that was found
hanging in the billiard-room after the crime?"

"Don't you dare ask that girl that," interrupted the magistrate. "Miss
Delary, you may step down."

But the principal sensation of the day arose out of the evidence offered
by Masterman Throgton, general manager of the _Planet_. Kivas Kelly, he
testified, had dined with him at his