Disappointment reigned. After the glorious baiting of one whose race went so long a way to make him fair game, almost anything would have been an anti-climax. There now advanced for their delectation a slim, blond, anemic, peevish youth, feeble yet c.o.c.ky, almost as much like a faded flower from a somewhat degenerated stalk as if he had been nipping down Fifth Avenue under a silk hat, and whose name of Willie Clarence Dodd proclaimed him of the purest Christian blood. Yet the stare of the a.s.sembly wandered from him, pa.s.sed, grinning, where Deutch sat with hanging head, and settled down to feed upon the pallor of Christina's cheek. Herrick rose suddenly, displacing, as it were, a great deal of atmosphere with his large person, and stalking across the room, pulled up a chair to Deutch's side. If he had clasped and held that plump, that trembling hand, his intention could not have been more obvious.

Christina turned her head a little and, with no change of expression, looked at him for a moment. Then she turned back again to Willie Clarence Dodd. That gentleman, ogling her with a canny glance, affably tipped his hat to her, and she bowed to him with utter gravity.

Mr. Dodd was a gentleman cherishing a just grudge. By the accident of bringing him into day-service instead of night-service, when there was a murder up her sleeve, Fate had balked him of his legitimate rights in life. Notoriety had been near him, but it had escaped. Mr. Dodd's self-satisfaction, however, was not easily downed. He had still a card to play, and he played it as jauntily as if doom had not despoiled him of his due. He smiled. And he had a right to. The first important question asked him ran--"On the day after Mr. Ingham's return from Europe--the day, in fact, of his death--did Mr. Ingham have any callers?"

"Yes, sir. He had one."

Interest leaped to him. He bloomed with it.

Apart from interruptions, his story ran--"Yes, sir. A lady. Quite a good-looker. Medium height. Might make you look round for a white horse; but curls, natural. Very neat dresser and up-to-date. Cute little feet.

She wouldn't give her name. But not one o' _that_ sort, you understand.

She came up to me--the telephone girl was sick and I was onto her job--and she says to me, very low, as if she'd kind of gone back on herself,--'Will you kindly tell Mr. James Ingham that the lady he expects is here?' He came down livelier than I'd ever known him, and she said it was good of him to see her and they sat down on the window-seat.

That's one thing where the Van Dam's on the b.u.m--no parlor. I was really sorry for the little lady--no, not short, but the kind a man just naturally calls little--she was so nervous and she talked about as loud as a mouse; I guess he felt the same way, for he says, 'Won't you come upstairs to tell me all this? We shall be quite undisturbed,' he says.

And while they were waiting for the elevator--the hall-boy wasn't much on running it--she says to him, 'You understand; I don't want to get Christina into any trouble.' And he says, 'Of course; that is all quite understood.' In about half an hour down they came together and he had his hat. He wanted to send her off in a cab, but she wouldn't let him.

The minute she was gone he says to me, ''Phone for a taxi!' They didn't answer, and he says, 'Ring like the devil!' It hadn't stopped at the door when he was in it and off."

"You couldn't, of course, hear his direction?"

"Nop! He got back about six--chewing the rag, but on the quiet. Went out in his dress suit about seven-thirty. I went off at eight."

He was dismissed, strutting.

"And now let us get down to business. If you please," said the coroner, "Miss Christina Hope."

CHAPTER X

JOE PATRICK ARRIVES

If the young actress and Ten Euyck, now at his best as the coroner, had, as Corey had suggested, any previous knowledge of each other, neither of them stooped to signify it now.

"Your name, if you please?"

"Christina Hope."

"Occupation?"

"Actress."

"May one ask a lady's age?"

"Twenty-two years."

She said she was single, and resided with her mother at No. -- West 93rd Street. The girl spoke very low, but clearly, and of these dry preliminaries in her case not a syllable was lost. Her audience, leaning forward with thumbs down, still took eagerly all that she could give them. On being offered a chair, she said that she would stand--"Unless, of course, you would rather I did not."

The coroner replied to this biddable appeal--"I shan't keep you a moment longer than is necessary, Miss Hope. I have only to ask you a very few questions. Believe me, I regret fixing your mind upon a painful subject; and nothing that I have hitherto said has been what I may call _personally_ intended. I question in the interests of justice and I hope you will answer as fully as possible in the same cause."

"Oh, certainly."

"You were engaged to be married to Mr. Ingham, Miss Hope?"

"Yes."

"When did this engagement take place?"

"About a year ago."

"And your understanding with him remained unimpaired up to his death?"

"Yes."

"When did you last see him alive?"

"On the day before he--died. He drove to our house from the ship."

"Ah! Very natural, very natural and proper. But surely you dined together? Or met again during the next twenty-four hours?"

"No."

"No? What were you doing on the evening of the fourth of August--the evening of his death?"

"My mother and I dined alone, at home. We were neither of us in good spirits. I had had a bad day at rehearsal--everything had gone wrong. My head ached and my mother was worn out with trying to get our house in order; it was a new house, we were just moving in."

"You rented a new house just as you were going to be married?"

"Yes, that was why. I was determined not to be married out of a flat."

A smile of sympathy stirred through her audience. It might be stupidity which kept her from showing any resentment toward a man who had practically accused her of murder. Or, it might be guilt. But she was so young, so docile, so demure! Her voice was so low and it came in such shy breaths--there was something so immature in the little rushes and hesitations of it. She seemed such a sweet young lady! After all, they didn't want to feed her to the tigers yet awhile!

And the coroner was instantly aware of this. "Then your mother," he said, "is the only person who can corroborate your story of how you pa.s.sed that evening?"

"Yes."

"How did you pa.s.s it?"

"I worked on my part until after eleven, but I couldn't get it. Then I took a letter of my mother's out to the post-box."

"At that hour! Alone!"

"Yes. I am an actress; I am not afraid. And I wanted the air."

"You came straight home?"

"Yes."

"While you were out did any neighbor see you? Did you speak to any one?"