and I can think of nothing in them bearing in the least upon this tragedy."
The man lied; I knew it instantly. The clenched hand pausing irresolute, then making up its mind to go through with the lie firmly, was enough for me.
"Mr. Harwell, this is undoubtedly true according to your judgment," said the coroner; "but Mr. Leavenworth’s correspondence will have to be searched for all that."
"Of course," he replied carelessly; "that is only right."
This remark ended Mr. Harwell’s examination for the time. As he sat down I made note of four things.
That Mr. Harwell himself, for some reason not given, was conscious of a suspicion which he was anxious to suppress even from his own mind.
That a woman was in some way connected with it, a rustle as well as a footstep having been heard by him on the stairs.
That a letter had arrived at the house, which if found would be likely to throw some light upon this subject.
That Eleanore Leavenworth’s name came with difficulty from his lips; this evidently unimpressible man, manifesting more or less emotion whenever he was called upon to utter it.
