“Has he any means of his own?”
“No,” said Parmalee, “except his salary, which was a good one from Mr. Crawford, but of course he’s lost that now.”
“I don’t feel drawn toward him. I suppose one would call him a gentleman and yet he isn’t manly.”
“He’s a cad,” declared Parmalee; “any fortune-hunter is a cad, and I despise him.”
Although I tried to hold my mind impartially open regarding Mr. Hall, I was conscious of an inclination to despise him myself. But I was also honest enough to realize that my principal reason for despising him was because he had won the hand of Florence Lloyd.
I heard Coroner Monroe draw a long sigh.
Clearly, the man was becoming more and more apprehensive, and really dreaded to go on with the proceedings, because he was fearful of what might be disclosed thereby.
The gold bag still lay on the table before him; the yellow rose petals were not yet satisfactorily accounted for; Miss Lloyd’s agitation and sudden loss of consciousness, though not surprising in the circumstances, were a point in her disfavor. And now the revelation that Mr. Crawford was actually on the point of disinheriting his niece made it impossible to ignore the obvious connection between that fact and the event of the night.
But no one had put the thought into words, and none seemed inclined to.
Mechanically, Mr. Monroe called the next witness on his list, and Mrs. Pierce answered.
For some reason she chose to stand during her interview, and as she rose, I realized that she was a prim little personage, but of such a decided nature that she might have been stigmatized by the term stubborn. I had seen such women before; of a certain soft, outward effect, apparently pliable and amenable, but in reality, deep, shrewd and clever.
And yet she was not strong, for the situation in which she found herself made her trembling and unstrung.
When asked by the coroner to tell her own story of the events of the evening before, she begged that he would question her instead.
Desirous of making it as easy for her as possible, Mr. Monroe acceded to her wishes, and put his questions in a kindly and conversational tone.
“You were at dinner last night, with Miss Lloyd and Mr. Crawford?”
“Yes,” was the almost inaudible reply, and Mrs. Pierce seemed about to break down at the sad recollection.
“You heard the argument between Mr. Crawford and his niece at the dinner table?”
“Yes.”
“This resulted in high words on both sides?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly what you mean by high words. Mr. Crawford rarely lost his temper and Florence never.”
“What then did Mr. Crawford say in regard to disinheriting Miss Lloyd?”
“Mr. Crawford said clearly, but without recourse to what may be called high words, that unless Florence would consent to break her engagement he would cut her off with a shilling.”
“Did he use that expression?”
“He did at first, when he was speaking more lightly; then when Florence refused to do as he wished he said he would go that very evening to Mr. Randolph’s and have a new will made which should disinherit Florence, except for a small annuity.”
“And what did Miss Lloyd reply to this threat?” asked the coroner.
“She said,” replied Mrs. Pierce, in her plaintive tones, “that her uncle might do as he chose about that; but she would never give up Mr. Hall.”
At this moment Gregory Hall looked more manly than I had yet seen him.
Though he modestly dropped his eyes at this tacit tribute to his worthiness, yet he squared his shoulders, and showed a justifiable pride in the love thus evinced for him.
“Was the subject discussed further?” pursued the coroner.
“No; nothing more was said about it after that.”
“Will the making of a new will by Mr. Crawford affect yourself in any way, Mrs. Pierce?”
“No,” she replied, “Mr. Crawford left me a small bequest in his earlier will and I had reason to think he would do the same in a later will, even though he changed his intentions regarding Florence.”
“Miss Lloyd thoroughly believed that he intended to carry out his threat last evening?”
“She didn’t say so to me, but Mr. Crawford spoke so decidedly on the matter, that I think both she and I believed he was really going to carry out his threat at last.”
“When Mr. Crawford left the house, did you and Miss Lloyd know where he was going?”
“We knew no more than he had said at the table. He said nothing when he went away.”
“How did you and Miss Lloyd spend the remainder of the evening?”
“It was but a short evening. We sat in the music-room for a time, but at about ten o’clock we both went up to our rooms.”
“Had Mr. Crawford returned then?”
“Yes, he came in perhaps an hour earlier. We heard him come in at the front door, and go at once to his office.”
“You did not see him, or speak to him?”
“We did not. He had a caller during the evening. It was Mr. Porter, I have since learned.”
“Did Miss Lloyd express no interest as to whether he had changed his will or not?”
“Miss Lloyd didn’t mention the will, or her engagement, to me at all. We talked entirely of other matters.”
“Was Miss Lloyd in her usual mood or spirits?”
“She seemed a little quiet, but not at all what you might call worried.”
“Was not this strange when she was fully expecting to be deprived of her entire fortune?”
“It was not strange for Miss Lloyd. She rarely talks of her own affairs. We spent an evening similar in all respects to our usual evening when we do not have guests.”
“And you both went upstairs at ten. Was that unusually early for you?”
“Well, unless we have guests, we often go at ten or half-past ten.”
“And did you see Miss Lloyd again that night?”
“Yes; about half an hour later, I went to her room for a book I wanted.”
“Miss Lloyd had not retired?”
“No; she asked me to sit down for awhile and chat.”
“Did you do so?”
“Only for
