"Then why, Miss Nealman, did you tell us a few minutes ago you hadn't seen Mr. Nealman since afternoon? That was a lie, was it not? I didn't ask you to take formal oath when you gave me your testimony. I presumed you'd stay by the truth. Why did you tell us what you did?"

"I didn't see any use in trying to explain. I didn't tell you--because Mr. Nealman asked me not to."

A little shiver of expectancy pa.s.sed over the court. "What do you mean?"

"Just that--he asked me to tell no one about my visit to the little study adjoining his room. The whole thing was simply this--there's certainly no good in withholding it any more. About eleven he rang for me. There is a bell, you know, that connects that study with my room. I answered it as I've always done. He asked me if I had a Bible--and I told him I did. He asked me to get it for him, as quietly as possible.

"I got it--quietly as possible--just as he said. There was nothing very peculiar about it--he often wants some book out of the library. I gave him the book and he dismissed me, first asking me to tell no one, under any conditions, that he had asked for it. I didn't know why he asked it, but he is my employer, and I complied with his request. Mrs. Gentry saw me as I was coming down the hall with the Bible under my arm. I didn't tell you about it because he asked me not to."

"It was your Bible, then, that we found in his room?"

"Of course."

"Mr. Nealman was given to reading the Bible at various times?"

"On the contrary I don't think he ever read it. He didn't have a copy.

He was not, outwardly, according to the usual manifestations, a highly religious man."

"Yet you say he was intrinsically religious? At least, that he had religious instincts?"

"He had very fine instincts. He had a great deal of natural religion."

"You often brought him books, you say. Yet you must have thought it peculiar--that he would ask for the Bible--in the dead of night."

"Yes." Her voice dropped a tone. "Of course it was peculiar."

"Then why didn't you notify some one about it?"

"Because he told me not to."

The coroner seemed baffled--but only for an instant. "Did it occur to you that he was perhaps trying to get some religious consolation--just before he took some important or tragic step? Did the thought of--suicide ever occur to you?"

"No. It didn't occur to me. My uncle didn't commit suicide."

"You have only your beliefs as to that?"

"Yes, but they are enough. I know him too well. I'm sure he didn't commit suicide."

"How did he appear when you talked to him--excited, frenzied? Did he seem changed at all?"

"I think he was somewhat excited. His eyes were very bright. I wouldn't call him desperate, however. He was dressed in the flannels he had worn when he went to his room. Of course he looked dreadfully worn and tired--he had been through a great deal that day. As you know he had just heard about his frightful losses on the stock exchange, wiping out his entire fortune and even leaving some few debts."

"You went away quietly--at once? Leaving him to read the Bible?"

"Very soon. We talked a few minutes, perhaps."

Then the coroner began upon a series of questions that were abhorrent to every man in the room. There was nothing to do, however, but to listen to them in silence. The man was within his rights.

"You say that Nealman was your uncle?" he asked.

The girl's eyes fastened on his, and narrowed as we watched her. "Of course. My father's brother."

"A blood relative, eh?" The coroner spoke more slowly, carefully. "I suppose you could prove that point to the satisfaction of a court."

"With a little time. I'd have to go back to the records of my own old home. What are you getting at?"

"What was your father's name, may I ask?"

"Henry H. Nealman."

"Older or younger than Grover Nealman?"

"Nearly ten years older, or thereabouts."

"Where was Mr. Nealman born?"

"In Rensselaer, New York. His father was named Henry H. Nealman, also.

He was a rug manufacturer. There was also one sister that died many years ago--Grace Nealman. Are you satisfied that I am really his niece, Mr. Weldon?"

"Perfectly." The coroner nodded, slowly. "Perfectly satisfied."

He dismissed her, but it came about that I failed to hear the testimony given immediately thereafter. One of Slatterly's men that had been sent for to help him drag the lake brought me in a telegram.

It was the belated answer to the wire I had sent to Mrs. Noyes, of New Hampshire the previous day, and signed by the woman's husband. It read as follows:

MY WIFE DIED LAST MONTH LEAVING ME TO MOURN. THE LETTERS WERE UNQUESTIONABLY FROM GEORGE FLOREY DAVID'S BROTHER. THEY HAVE BEEN BITTER ENEMIES SINCE YOUTH OVER SOME SECRET BUSINESS. FIND GEORGE FLOREY AND YOU WILL FIND THE MURDERER.

I HAVEN'T EVER SEEN HIM AND SO FAR HAVE BEEN UNABLE TO FIND PHOTO. IF ONE TURNS UP I WILL SEND IT ON.

WILLIAM NOYES.

CHAPTER XVIII

Grover Nealman had disappeared, and no search could bring him back to Kastle Krags. The hope that we all had, that some way, some how he would reappear--destroying in a moment that strange, ghastly tradition that these last two nights had established--died in our souls as the daylight hours sped by. Even if we could have found him dead it would have been some relief. In that case we could ascribe his death to something we could understand--a sudden sickness, a murderer's blow, perhaps even his own hand at his throat, all of which were within our bourne of human experience. But it was vaguely hard for us to have two men go, on successive nights, and have no knowledge whence or how they had gone.

Of course no man hinted at this hardship. It was simply the sort of thing that could not be discussed by intelligent men. Yet we were human, only a few little generations from the tribal fire and the witch-doctors, and it got under our skins.

Grover Nealman's body was not lying in some unoccupied part of the house, nor did we find him in the gardens. Telephone messages were sent, but Nealman had not been seen. And after six hours of patient search, under that Floridan sun, it was no longer easy to believe that he lay at the bottom of the lagoon.

The sheriff's men dragged tirelessly, widening out their field of search until it covered most of the lagoon, but they found neither Nealman nor Florey. Some of the work was done in the flow-tide, when the waves breaking on the rocky barrier made the lagoon itself choppy and rough.

They came in tired and discouraged, ready to give up.

In the meantime Van Hope had heard from Lacone--but his message was not very encouraging either. It would likely be forty hours, he said, before he could arrive at Kastle Krags. Of course Van Hope and his friends agreed that there was nothing to do but wait for him.

The sun reached high noon and then began his long, downward drift to the West. The shadows slowly lengthened almost imperceptibly at first, but with gradually increasing speed. The heat of the day climbed, reached its zenith; the diamond-back slept heavily in the shade, a deadly slumber that was evil to look upon; and the water-moccasin hung lifelessly in his thickets--and then, so slowly as to pa.s.s belief, the little winds from the West sprang up, bringing relief. It would soon be night at Kastle Krags. The afternoon was almost gone.