Again he glanced quickly but carefully at every article on the table, and then, taking a chair, sat quietly in a corner, unobtrusive but alert.
With something of a bustling air the coroner came in. Coroner Benson was a fussy sort of man, with a somewhat exaggerated sense of his own importance.
He paused with what he probably considered a dramatic start when he saw the dead body of Miss Van Norman, and, shaking his head, said, “Alas! Alas!” in tragic tones.
Miss Morton and Kitty French had followed him in, and stood arm in arm, a little bewildered, but determined to know whatever might transpire. Cicely Dupuy and Miss Markham had also come in.
But after a glance round and a preliminary clearing of his throat, he at once requested that everybody except the two doctors should leave the room.
Fessenden and Kitty French were greatly disappointed at this, but the others went out with a feeling of relief, for the strain was beginning to tell upon the nerves of all concerned.
As usual, Miss Morton tried to exercise her powers of generalship, and directed that they should all assemble in the drawing-room until recalled to learn the coroner’s opinion.
Mrs. Markham, unheeding Miss Morton’s dictum, went away to attend to her household duties, and Cicely went to her own room, but the others waited in the drawing-room. They were joined shortly by Tom Willard and Schuyler Carleton, who arrived at about the same time.
Mr. Carleton, never a robust man, looked like a wreck of his former self. Years had been added to his apparent age; his impassive face wore a look of stony grief, and his dark eyes seemed filled with an unutterable horror.
Tom Willard, on the contrary, being of stout build and rubicund countenance, seemed an ill-fitting figure in the sad and tearful group.
But as Kitty French remarked to Fessenden in a whisper, “Poor Tom probably feels the worst of any of us, and it isn’t his fault that he can’t make that fat, jolly face of his look more funereal.”
“And he’s said to be the heir to the estate, too,” Fessenden whispered back.
“Now, that’s mean of you,” declared Kitty. “Tom hasn’t a greedy hair in his head, and I don’t believe he has even thought of his fortune. And, besides, he was desperately in love with Madeleine. A whole heap more in love than Mr. Carleton was.”
Fessenden stared at her. “Then why was Carleton marrying her?”
“For her money,” said Kitty, with a disdainful air.
“I didn’t know that,” went on Fessenden, quite seriously. “I thought Carleton was hard hit. She was a magnificent woman.”
“Oh, she was, indeed,” agreed Kitty enthusiastically. “Mr. Carleton didn’t half appreciate her, and Tom did. But then she was always very different with Tom. Somehow she always seemed constrained when with Mr. Carleton.”
“Then why was she marrying him?”
“She was terribly in love with him. She liked Tom only in a cousinly way, but she adored Mr. Carleton. I know it.”
“Well, it seems you were right about her not killing herself, so you’re probably right about this matter, too.”
“Now, that shows a nice spirit,” said Kitty, smiling, even in the midst of her sorrow. “But, truly, I’m ’most always right; aren’t you?”
“I shall be after this, for I’m always going to agree with you.”
“That’s a pretty large order, for I’m sometimes awfully disagreeable.”
“I shouldn’t believe that, but I’ve practically promised to believe everything you tell me, so I suppose I shall have to.”
“Oh, now I have defeated my own ends! Well, never mind; abide by your first impression—that I’m always right—and then go ahead.”
“Go ahead it is,” declared Fessenden, and then Molly Gardner joined them. Molly was more overcome by the tragic turn affairs had taken than Kitty, and had only just made her appearance downstairs that day.
“You dear child,” cried Kitty, noting her pale cheeks and sad eyes, “sit right down here by us, and let Mr. Fessenden talk to you. He’s the nicest man in the world to cheer anyone up.”
“And you look as if you need cheering, Miss Gardner,” said Fessenden, arranging some pillows at her back, as she languidly dropped down on the sofa.
“I can’t realize it at all,” said poor Molly; “I don’t want to be silly and keep fainting all over the place, but every time I remember how Maddy looked last night—” She glanced toward the closed library doors with a shudder.
“Don’t think about it,” said Rob Fessenden gently. “What you need most, Miss Gardner, is a bit of fresh air. Come with me for a little walk in the grounds.”
This was self-sacrifice on the part of the young man, for he greatly desired to be present when the coroner should open the closed doors to them again. But he really thought Miss Gardner would be better for a short, brisk walk, and, getting her some wraps, they went out at the front door.
VII
Mr. Benson’s Questions
It was some time after Fessenden and Molly had returned from their walk that the library doors were thrown open, and Coroner Benson invited them all to come in.
They filed in slowly, each heart heavy with an impending sense of dread. Doctor Hills ushered them to seats, which had been arranged in rows, and which gave an unpleasantly formal air to the cozy library.
The body of Madeleine Van Norman had been taken upstairs to her own room, and at the library table, where she had last sat, stood Coroner Benson.
The women were seated in front. Mrs. Markham seemed to have settled into a sort of sad apathy, but Miss Morton was briskly alert and, though evidently nervous, seemed eager to hear what the coroner had to tell.
Kitty French, too, was full of anxious interest, and, taking the seat assigned to her, clasped her little hands in breathless suspense, while a high color rose to her lovely cheeks.
Molly Gardner was pale and wan-looking. She dreaded the whole scene, and had but one desire, to get
