The Holladay Case: A Tale. Burton Egbert Stevenson

should say he was practically dead when I found him."

      I felt, rather than heard, the little stir which ran through the room. There was an indefinable horror in the story and in the conclusion to which it inevitably led.

      "Now, let us go back a moment," said the coroner, as Rogers stopped and mopped his forehead feverishly. "I want the jury to understand your story thoroughly. Mr. Holladay had been dictating to you?"

      "Yes."

      "And was quite well?"

      "Yes—as well as usual. He'd been suffering with indigestion for some time past."

      "Still he was able to attend to business?"

      "Oh, yes, sir. There was nothing at all serious in his illness."

      "You then left his office and returned to your own. How long had you been there before the outer door opened?"

      "Not over five minutes."

      "And who was it entered?"

      "Miss Frances Holladay—the daughter of my employer."

      "You're quite sure? You know her well?"

      "Very well. I've known her for many years. She often drove to the office in the evening to take her father home. I supposed that was what she came for yesterday."

      "You looked at her attentively?"

      Rogers hitched impatiently in his chair.

      "I glanced at her, as I always do," he said. "I didn't stare."

      "But you're quite sure it was Miss Holladay?"

      "Absolutely sure, sir. Good God!" he cried, his nerves giving way for an instant, "do you suppose I'd make an assertion like that if I wasn't absolutely sure?"

      "No," said the coroner soothingly; "no, I don't suppose any such thing, not for a moment, Mr. Rogers; only I want the jury to see how certain the identification is. Shall I proceed?"

      "Go ahead, sir," said Rogers. "I'll try to hold myself together a little better, sir."

      "I can see what a strain this is for you," said the coroner kindly; "and I'll spare you as much as I can. Now, after Miss Holladay entered the inner office, how long did she remain there?"

      "About ten minutes, I should say; not longer than that, certainly."

      "Did you hear any sound of conversation, or any unusual noise of any kind?"

      "No, sir. It would have been a very unusual noise to be audible. Mr. Holladay's office has heavy walls and a double door which completely shut off all sounds from within."

      "Miss Holladay then came out?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "And walked past you?"

      "Yes, sir; walked past me rapidly."

      "Did you not think that peculiar?"

      "Why, sir, she didn't often stop to speak to me. I was busy and so thought nothing particularly about it."

      "Did you notice her face? Did she seem perturbed?"

      "No, sir; I didn't notice. I just glanced up and bowed. In fact, I didn't see her face at all, for she had lowered her veil."

      "Her veil!" repeated the coroner. "You hadn't mentioned that she wore a veil."

      "No, sir; when she came into the office she had lifted it up over her hat-brim—you know how women do."

      "Yes—so you saw her face distinctly when she entered?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "But when she went out, she had lowered her veil. Was it a heavy one?"

      "Why, sir," the witness hesitated, "just an ordinary veil, I should say."

      "But still heavy enough to conceal her face?"

      "Oh, yes, sir."

      The coroner nodded. "Now, Mr. Rogers, how long a time elapsed after the departure of the woman before you went back into the inner office?"

      "Not more than three or four minutes. I thought perhaps Mr. Holladay was getting ready to accompany his daughter, and I didn't wish to detain him."

      "And you found him, as you say, lying forward across his desk with a knife in his throat and the blood spurting out. Did you recognize the knife?"

      "Yes, sir. It was his knife—a knife he kept lying on his desk to sharpen pencils with and erase and so on."

      "Sharp, was it?"

      "It had one long blade, very sharp, sir."

      The coroner picked up a knife that was lying on the desk before him.

      "Is this the knife?" he asked.

      Rogers looked at it carefully.

      "That's the knife, sir," he said, and it was passed to the jury. When they had finished with it, Mr. Royce and I examined it. It was an ordinary one-bladed erasing knife with ivory handle. It was open, the blade being about two inches and a half in length, and, as I soon convinced myself, very sharp indeed.

      "Will you describe Mr. Holladay's position?" continued the coroner.

      "He was lying forward on the desk, with his arms outstretched and his head to one side."

      "And there was a great deal of blood?"

      "Oh, a great deal! Someone, apparently, had attempted to check it, for a little distance away there was a handkerchief soaked in blood."

      The coroner picked up a handkerchief and handed it to the witness.

      "Is that the handkerchief?" he asked.

      "Yes, sir," said Rogers, after a moment.

      "Is it a man's or a woman's handkerchief?"

      "Oh, a woman's undoubtedly."

      The jury examined it and so did we. It was a small square of fine cambric with no mark that I could see, soaked through and through with blood—unquestionably a woman's handkerchief. Then Rogers told the rest of the story—how he had summoned aid and informed the police.

      "Now, Mr. Rogers," said the coroner, when he had finished, "there is one point more. Has there been anything in your knowledge of Mr. Holladay or his business to suggest the idea of suicide?"

      The witness shook his head decidedly.

      "Nothing whatever, sir," he said positively. "His business was prospering; he was happy and contented—why, he was planning for a trip abroad with his daughter."

      "Let us suppose for a moment," continued Goldberg, "that he did actually stab himself in his daughter's presence; what would you naturally expect her to do?"

      "I should expect her to give the alarm—to summon aid," replied Rogers.

      "Certainly—unquestionably," and Goldberg nodded to my chief. "I turn the witness over to you, Mr. Royce," he said.

      "Now, Mr. Rogers," began our junior impressively, "you know, of course, that this whole case hinges, at present, on your identification of the woman who, presumably, was in Mr. Holladay's office when he was stabbed. I want to be very sure of that identification. Will you tell me how she was dressed?"

      The witness paused for a moment's thought.

      "She wore a dress of very dark red," he said at last, "with some sort of narrow dark trimming—black, possibly. That's all I can tell you about it."

      "And the hat?"

      "I didn't notice the hat, sir. I only glanced at her."

      "But in that glance, Mr. Rogers, did you see nothing unusual—nothing which suggested to your mind that possibly it might not be Miss Holladay?"

      "Nothing, sir."