“Have you ever seen him before?”
“No,” she answered, quietly.
“Miss Derwent, pardon my questioning you still further, but I have been told that a gentleman closely resembling the deceased called on you on Tuesday evening. Now, do you see any resemblance between the two?”
A burning blush overspread the girl’s face, and then she grew so ghastly pale that I moved to her side, fearing she would fall.
“Mr. Coroner, can’t the rest of the questions you have to ask Miss Derwent be put to her somewhere else?” I suggested. “The atmosphere here is intolerable.”
“Certainly,” he replied, with unexpected mildness.
I drew the young lady’s unresisting hand through my arm and supported her into the next room. She was trembling so violently that she would have fallen if I had not done so, and I could see that it was only by the greatest self-control that she kept any semblance of composure.
“Now,” resumed the Coroner, “if you feel well enough, will you kindly answer my last question?”
“The gentleman who called on me on Tuesday does not resemble the dead man, except in so far that they both have black, pointed beards.”
“At what time did your friend leave you on Tuesday evening?” was the next question asked.
“I cannot see why the private affairs of my visitors or myself should be pried into,” she replied, haughtily. “I decline to answer.”
“My dear young lady,” here interposed Mr. Merritt, “you have, of course, every right not to answer any question that you think likely to incriminate you, but,” he continued with a smile, “it is hardly possible that anything could do that. On the other hand, it is our duty to try and sift this matter to the bottom. You certainly will agree with the necessity of it when I tell you that this man has been murdered!”
“Murdered!” the girl repeated, as if dazed. “Oh, no!”
“I regret to say that there is absolutely no doubt of it. Now, one of the elevator boys has identified the corpse as that of the gentleman who called on you the day before yesterday. I do not doubt that he was mistaken,—in fact, I am sure of it; but as no one saw your friend leave the building, it becomes incumbent on us to make sure that he did so. It will save a great deal of trouble to us, and perhaps to yourself, if you will tell us the gentleman’s name and at what hour he left here.”
She had covered her face with her hands, but now dropped them, and lifting her head, faced us with an air of sudden resolution.
“Gentlemen,” she began, then hesitated and looked at us each in turn, “you can readily imagine that it will be a terrible thing for me if my name should in any way, however indirectly, be connected with this tragedy. But I see that it is useless to refuse to answer your questions. It will only make you believe that I have something to conceal. I can but ask you, you on whom I have no claim, to shield from publicity a girl who has put herself in a terribly false position.”
“Miss Derwent, I think I can assure you that we will do everything in our power to help you. Nothing you say here shall be heard beyond these walls unless the cause of justice demands it.” The Coroner spoke with considerable warmth. Evidently, Miss May’s charms had not been without their effect on him.
“Very well, then,” said the girl, “I will answer your questions. What do you want to know?”
“In the first place, please tell us how you came to spend two nights in an unoccupied apartment?”
“I suppose you already know,” she answered, a trifle bitterly, “that I arrived here unexpectedly on Tuesday afternoon?” The Coroner made a motion of assent.
“I had reached the city earlier in the day, and had meant to catch the five o’clock train to Bar Harbor. As I had several errands to do, I sent my maid ahead to the Grand Central Depot with orders to engage a stateroom and check my luggage. I forgot to notice how the time was passing till I caught sight of a clock in Madison Square pointing to eight minutes to five. I jumped into a hansom, but got to the station just in time to see the train steam away, with my maid hanging distractedly out of a window.” She paused a moment. “A gentleman happened to be with me,” she continued with downcast eyes, “so we consulted together as to what I had better do. On looking up the trains I found that I could not get back to my mother’s country place till nine o’clock that evening, and then should have to leave home again at a frightfully early hour so as to catch the morning train to Bar Harbor. Otherwise I should be obliged to wait over till the following afternoon and take a long night journey by myself, which I knew my mother would not wish me to do. Altogether, it seemed so much simpler to remain in town if I could only find a place to go to. Suddenly, our apartment occurred to me. Of course, I knew that the world would not approve of my staying here alone; nevertheless, I decided to do so.”
“You went out again very soon after your arrival, did you not?” asked the Coroner.
“Yes,” she answered, “as there was no way of getting any food here, my friend” (she hesitated slightly over the last word) “had little difficulty in persuading me to dine with him at a quiet restaurant in the neighbourhood.”
“Did the gentleman return to the Rosemere after dinner?”
“Yes.”
“And did he leave you then?”
Miss Derwent hesitated a moment, then, throwing her head back she answered proudly: “No!” But a deep crimson again suffused her cheek, and she added almost apologetically: “It was all so unconventional that I did not see why I should draw the line at his spending the evening with me. He was a very intimate friend.”
“Why do you use the past tense?” asked Mr. Merritt. She cast a little frightened glance in his direction, evidently startled at being caught up so quickly: “We—we had a very serious disagreement,” she murmured.
“Was the disagreement so serious as to put an end to your friendship?” inquired the detective.
“Yes,” she replied curtly, while an angry light came into her eyes.
“At what time did the gentleman leave you?” resumed the Coroner.
“It was very late;—after eleven, I think.”
“And you have not seen him again since then?”
“Certainly not,” she replied.
“Why did you not carry out your first intention of leaving the city on the following morning?”
The girl appeared slightly embarrassed as she answered: “I did not feel like paying visits just at the moment, and besides I had not enough money to carry me as far as Bar Harbor. My maid had most of my money, and I was no longer willing to borrow from my visitor, as I had intended doing.”
“Excuse my questioning you still further,” said the Coroner, with a glance of admiration at the beautiful girl, who was fretting under the examination, “but, why, then, didn’t you return to your home?”
“I did not wish to do so.” Then, catching Mr. Merritt’s eye, she added: “I had been a good deal upset by—by what had occurred the night before and felt the need of a day to myself. Besides, I had some shopping to do, and thought this a good opportunity to do it. I am going home this morning.”
“Thank you, Miss Derwent,” exclaimed the Coroner, heartily; “your explanations are perfectly satisfactory. Only you have forgotten to tell us the gentleman’s name.”
“Why need you know his name?” she demanded, passionately, “you will soon find out who this unknown man is. There must be hundreds of people in this city who knew him. Why should I tell you the name of my visitor? I refuse to do so.”
“Miss Derwent is quite right,” interposed the detective, with unexpected decision;