The Holladay Case: A Tale. Burton Egbert Stevenson

change of demeanor, perhaps; of expression?"

      The witness hesitated.

      "I thought she was looking not quite so well as usual," he said slowly. "She seemed a little pale and worried."

      "Ah! It was dark in the office, was it not, at five o'clock yesterday afternoon?"

      "We had turned on the lights half an hour before, sir."

      "Is your office well lighted?"

      "I have a light over my desk, sir, and there's another on the wall."

      "So you could not see your visitor's face with absolute clearness?"

      "No, sir; but quite clearly enough to recognize her," he added doggedly.

      "Yet you thought her looking pale and worried."

      "Yes, sir; that was my impression."

      "And when she asked for Mr. Holladay, did she use the words 'my father,' as your evidence would suggest?"

      Again the witness hesitated in the effort at recollection.

      "No, sir," he answered finally. "Her words, I think, were, 'Is Mr. Holladay engaged at present?'"

      "It was Miss Holladay's voice?"

      "I could not say, sir," answered the witness, again mopping the perspiration from his forehead. "I have no wish to incriminate Miss Holladay unnecessarily. I'm not sufficiently well acquainted with her voice to swear to it."

      "Well, when you answered her question in the negative, did she hesitate before entering the private office?"

      "No, sir; she went straight to it."

      "Is there any lettering on the door?"

      "Oh, yes, the usual lettering, 'Private Office.'"

      "So that, even if she were not acquainted with the place, she might still have seen where to go?"

      "Yes, sir; I suppose so."

      "And you stated, too, I believe, that you could have heard no sound of an altercation in the private office, had one occurred?"

      "No, sir; I could have heard nothing."

      "You have been with Mr. Holladay a long time, I believe, Mr. Rogers?"

      "Over thirty years, sir."

      "And you are intimately acquainted with his affairs?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "Now, Mr. Rogers, have you ever, in all these years, ran across anything—any item of expenditure, any correspondence, anything whatever—which would lead you to think that Mr. Holladay was a victim of blackmail, or that he had ever had a liaison with a woman?"

      "No, sir!" cried the witness. "No, sir! I'm willing to swear that such a thing is not possible. I should inevitably have found it out had it existed."

      "That will do for the present," said Mr. Royce. "I shall want to recall the witness, however, sir."

      The coroner nodded, and Rogers stepped down, still trembling from the effects of his last outburst. I confess that, for my part, I thought we were very deep in the mire.

      The office-boy was called next, but added nothing to the story. He had gone to the chute to mail some letters; the woman must have entered the office while he was away. He saw her come out again, but, of course, did not see her face. He had been employed recently, and did not know Miss Holladay.

      Then the physicians who had attended the dead man were called, and testified that the knife-blade had penetrated the left carotid artery, and that he had bled to death—was dead, indeed, before they reached him. It would take, perhaps, ten minutes to produce such an effusion of blood as Rogers had noticed—certainly more than five, so that the blow must have been struck before the woman left the inner office.

      The policeman who had responded to the alarm testified that he had examined the windows, and that they were both bolted on the inside, precluding the possibility of anyone swinging down from above or clambering up from below. Nothing in the office had been disturbed. There was other evidence of an immaterial nature, and then Miss Holladay's maid was called.

      "Was your mistress away from home yesterday afternoon?" asked the coroner.

      "Yes, sir; she had the carriage ordered for three o'clock. She was driven away shortly after that."

      "And what time did she return?"

      "About six, sir; just in time to dress for dinner."

      "Did you notice anything unusual in her demeanor when she returned?"

      The maid hesitated, fearing doubtless that she might say too much.

      "Miss Holladay had complained of a headache in the morning," she said, after a moment. "She was looking badly when she went out, and the drive made her worse instead of better. She seemed very nervous and ill. I advised her to lie down and not dress for dinner, but she would not listen. She always dined with her father, and did not wish to disappoint him. She was in a great hurry, fearing that he'd get back before she was ready."

      "There's no doubt in your mind that she was really expecting him?"

      "Oh, no, sir; she even went to the door to look for him when he did not come. She seemed very uneasy about him."

      That was one point in our favor certainly.

      "And when the news of her father's death reached her, how did she bear it?"

      "She didn't bear it at all, sir," answered the maid, catching her breath to choke back a sob. "She fainted dead away. Afterwards, she seemed to be in a kind of daze till the doctor came."

      "That is all. Have you any questions to ask the witness, Mr. Royce?"

      "Only one," said my chief, leaning forward. I knew what it was, and held my breath, wondering whether it were wise to ask it. "Do you remember the gown your mistress wore yesterday afternoon?" he questioned.

      "Oh, yes, sir," and the witness brightened. "It was a dark red broadcloth, made very plain, with only a little narrow black braid for trimming."

CHAPTER III

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The Coil Tightens

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      From the breathless silence that followed her answer, she saw that she had somehow dealt her mistress a heavy blow, and the sobs burst out beyond control, choking her. I could see how my chief's face turned livid. He had driven another rivet in the chain—just the one it needed to hold it firmly together. My head was whirling. Could it be possible, after all, that this gentle, cultured girl was really such a fiend at heart that she could strike down. … I put the thought from me. It was monstrous, unbelievable!

      The coroner and the district attorney were whispering together, and I saw the former glance from the blood-stained handkerchief on the desk before him to the sobbing woman on the stand. It needed only that—her identification of that square of cambric—to complete the evidence. He hesitated a moment, said another word or two to Singleton, then straightened up again in his chair. Perhaps he thought the chain was strong enough; perhaps he saw only that the witness was in no condition to go on.

      "Anything further, Mr. Royce?" he asked.

      "Not at present, sir," answered our junior hoarsely. I think he was just beginning fully to realize how desperate our case was.

      "We will dismiss the witness, then, temporarily," said the coroner. "We shall probably recall her later on."

      The