“WHERE’S Brett?” asked Thornton, coming hurriedly into the library, where Douglas was seated at the telephone. The latter hung up the receiver before answering.

“He will be here directly, Colonel; at present he is with the doctor and coroner in the southwest chamber. You had better sit down, sir,” glancing with commiseration at Thornton’s haggard face; but the Colonel continued his nervous pacing to and fro.

“Jove!” he muttered. “This affair has given me a devilish shock.” He paused before a small wall cabinet, and, selecting a key on his ring bunch, he opened the door and took out a decanter.

“Will you join me?” he asked, placing it on the table with several tumblers.

“No, thanks, Colonel.” Douglas heard the glass click faintly against the mouth of the decanter as the Colonel poured out a liberal portion, which he drank neat. He was just replacing the decanter in the wall cabinet when Brett, followed by the coroner, walked into the room.

“If you have no objection, Colonel Thornton, we will hold an informal investigation here,” said Dr. Penfield, courteously.

“Not at all, sir, not at all,” exclaimed Thornton heartily. “I am most anxious to have this terrible affair cleared up as soon as possible. Simply state your wishes and they will be carried out to the best of my ability.”

“Thanks.” The coroner seated himself at the mahogany table standing in the center of the room and drew out his notebook and fountain pen, while Brett established himself on the opposite side.

“Shall I retire?” inquired the Colonel.

“I think it would be best,” replied Dr. Penfield gravely. “I prefer to examine the members of the household separately. No offense is intended.”

“And none is taken.” Thornton smiled wearily. “You forget I’m a lawyer, Doctor, and understand your position. If you wish to see me I will be in my room.”

“All right, Colonel.” The coroner consulted his notebook as Thornton left them, then turned to Douglas. “You were the first to enter the southwest chamber, were you not?”

“Yes, I broke in a panel of the door with Colonel Thornton’s assistance, and——”

“One moment.” Penfield held up his hand. “Was the door locked on the inside?”

“Yes, by an old-fashioned bolt, as well as by lock and key.”

“Did the bolt and lock work stiffly?”

“They did.”

“In your opinion would a person locking the door and shooting the bolt into place make enough noise to awaken the sleeper?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Did you find the windows of the room also bolted when you entered?”

“No, they were closed, but the bolts, similar to the one on the door, only smaller, were not fastened.”

“I see.” Penfield drummed on the table for a moment with his left hand. “Could anyone have slipped past you and Colonel Thornton when you stood waiting in the hallway for the gas to evaporate?”

“No, we would have been sure to see them, and, besides, no one could have remained in that room alive, the escaping gas was overpowering.”

“Did the room have no other exit except the one door leading to the hall?”

“That is all I could discover. I searched the room thoroughly with Brett.” The detective nodded affirmatively. “We could find no trace of any other entrance or exit.”

“Strange!” exclaimed Penfield. “The windows are too great a height from the ground, and can only be reached by a scaling ladder.”

“And beside that,” put in Brett, “I’ve examined the ground under and near the two windows of that room, and there isn’t a trace of a footstep or ladder anywhere around.”

The coroner laid down his pen. “I think that is all just now, Mr. Hunter. Brett, will you ask Dr. Marsh to step here.”

The two men left the room. “I’ll wait in the drawing-room, Brett,” called Douglas, as the detective started upstairs to find the doctor. In a few minutes Brett reappeared in the library with Dr. Marsh.

“I won’t detain you long, doctor,” began Penfield. “Be seated. You were the first to examine the dead woman upstairs; what do you think caused her death?”

“She was asphyxiated by illuminating gas. Every symptom points to that. Of course,” added the doctor cautiously, “this cannot be proved absolutely until the autopsy is held.”

“I think you are right; my diagnosis coincides with yours,” said the coroner. “Did you discover any evidence of a struggle or marks of violence about the woman’s person?”

“No. Judging from what I found, and I believe nothing had been disturbed by either Colonel Thornton or Mr. Hunter, I think that the Frenchwoman was reading in bed, fell asleep, and was overcome by the gas.”

“How long do you think she had been dead before you reached her?”

“Several hours, judging from the condition of the body. She was lying in such a position that she got the full force of the gas directly in her face; the room did not have to become filled with the deadly fumes before she was affected by them.”

“I noticed that,” exclaimed the coroner, “the drop light stood on a low stand, so that the gas fixture was on a level with the woman’s head, as the four-poster bed was an unusually high one. I have no further questions to ask just now, Doctor; an autopsy will be held this afternoon at the city morgue, where the body will be taken shortly. Brett, ask Miss Cynthia Carew to come here.”

Doctor Marsh stopped on his way to the door. “I have just given Miss Carew an opiate,” he said quickly; “she must not be disturbed at present.”

The coroner’s face fell. “That’s too bad,” he grumbled. “I particularly wanted to ask what she was doing in the hall at that hour, and what drew her attention to the closed door.”

“As it happens, I can answer those two questions.” Marsh returned to the table. “Before I could quiet Miss Carew she repeated her experiences a dozen times. It seems that she was thirsty and went into the hall to get a glass of water, as she recollected seeing an ice pitcher and tumblers on the hall table near the stairs. She drank some water, and was returning when she noticed the door in the moonlight, dropped the glass she was carrying, and screamed.”

“I found a broken glass lying in the hall,” supplemented Brett.

“What was it about the door that caused her to scream?” asked the coroner.

“The panels, which are made in the shape of a cross,” explained Doctor Marsh. “It seems that Miss Carew apparently suffers from nightmare which takes the form of a door with panels of that shape. She declares it always foretells disaster. When she found such a door confronting her in the ghostly moonlight it was too much for her nerves and she screamed.”

“What is all this I am told about the southwest chamber being haunted?”

Marsh shrugged his shoulders. “I have resided all my life in Georgetown and have always heard that a room in this house was supposed to be haunted. That particular kind of door with the panels forming a cross is called the ‘witches’ door,’ and was put there in the days just after the Revolution. It is to ward off evil, so the legend goes.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to have fulfilled its mission.” The coroner carefully turned a page in his notebook and made an entry. “I am very much obliged to you, Doctor,” as Marsh prepared to depart. “I wish you would let me know when Miss Carew is in fit condition to see me.”

“I will; good-bye,” and the busy physician beat a hasty retreat.

“Suppose you get the butler, Brett,” said the coroner when the two men were alone.

“May I suggest, Dr. Penfield, that you allow Mr. Hunter to be present when the servants are examined,” began Brett. “He is deeply interested in the murder of Senator Carew, and is assisting me in trying to unravel that mystery, and I think”—deliberately—“this French maid’s singular death has something to do with the other tragedy.”

“Indeed!” The coroner’s eyes kindled with fresh interest. “Certainly, Brett, if you think Mr. Hunter should be present, call him in. I will be glad of his assistance.”

The detective hastened out of the room, to return within a few minutes with Douglas and Nicodemus. The old darky was gray with fright, and his eyes had not regained their natural size since being awakened by the commotion attending the breaking in of the door. He had lain in his bed, too frightened to get up, until Douglas entered his room and hauled him out from under the bedclothes and made him go downstairs and build the fire for the cook, Sophy, who was more composed than her brother, and busied herself in preparing coffee and an early breakfast for those who desired it.

“Is there such a thing as a long scaling ladder on the premises?” inquired the coroner, after he had asked Nicodemus’ full name and length of service.

“No, suh; dey isn’t, only a pa’r ob steps so high”—demonstrating with his hand. “Dat’s der onliest one on de place.”

“Is any house being built in this neighborhood?”

“No, suh, dar isn’t.”

“How did you come to put the maid in that room?”

“I didn’t put her dar,” in quick defence; “she went dar ob her own accord; ’deed dat’s so, Marse Douglas,” appealing to him directly. “De Cunnel, he done tole Sophy an’ me ter fix three rooms fo’ de ladies, an’ a room fo’ yo’, suh; he done say nuffin’ about de maid, Annette.”

“Then you were not expecting her?”

“No, suh. I was ’sprised when Miss Eleanor brunged her. After I haid shown de ladies ter dey rooms I took Annette up ter de third flo’, an’ tole her she could take de front room dar.”

“Then how did she come to be occupying the other room?” asked the coroner quickly.

“It were dis-away, suh; jes’ befo’ dinnah she cum ter me an’ Sophy an’ say she doan like de room in de third flo’——”

“Why not?” broke in Penfield.

“She said it were too far off from her folks, dat she had to be down whar she could hear dem. I tole her dat de warn’t no room down on de second flo’, dat dey was all occupied, an’ she says, quick-like, dat she had jes’ been in de room in de wing, an’ dat she’d sleep dar.”

“Ah, then it was her own suggestion that she should occupy the room,” exclaimed Brett quickly.

“Yessir. She dun say dat de bed looked comfo’able, an’ dat she’d jes’ take de bedclothes offer de bed in de room on de third flo’, an’ move her things down inter de odder room. Sophy tole her dat de place were mighty dusty, ’cause it’s been used as a storeroom, but Annette said she’d ’tend ter dat.”

“Did she speak to Colonel Thornton or to Miss Eleanor before moving into the room?” asked Douglas, thoughtfully.

“No, suh, I don’t think she did. I axed her ef she had, an’ she said dat dey was all in de drawin’-room, waitin’ fer dinnah, an’ dat she didn’t want ter ’sturb ’em, an’ dat dey wouldn’t care whar she slep’.”

“Then no one knew she was occupying that room except you and Sophy?” asked the puzzled coroner.

“No, suh; ’less she tole dem later. I done warned her dat dat room were unlucky,”—Nicodemus’ eyes rolled in his head,—“an’ dat no good would cum ob her sleepin’ dar, an’ she jes’ larf and larf. An’ now she’s daid,”—he shook his woolly head solemnly; “it doan do ter trifle wid ghosts.”

“I won’t keep you any longer,” said the coroner, after a long pause. “Send Sophy up here, Nicodemus. By the way, is she any relation of yours?”

“Yessir, she’s ma sister, an’ we’ve bof worked hyar since befo de wah. I’ll send her right up, suh,” and he disappeared.

Sophy was not long in coming, and she confirmed all that Nicodemus had said. She added that the southwest chamber had not been occupied as a bedchamber for years, although the four-poster was left standing with its mattresses and pillows in place, after which she was excused. Colonel Thornton was then sent for by the coroner.

“Your servants say, Colonel, that you did not expect your niece to bring her French maid, Annette, with her last night,” began Penfield. “Is that so?”

“My niece is at liberty to bring anyone,” with emphasis, “to this house,” said Colonel Thornton. “But I must admit that I did not know until just as dinner was announced that the maid had accompanied her.”

“Did you not see them arrive?” asked Brett.

“No, they came earlier than I anticipated, and I was not in the house when they reached here.”

“Did Nicodemus inform you that the maid was here?”

“No; why should he? He knows that this is my niece’s second home, and that she is virtually mistress of the house.”

“Then your niece is thoroughly acquainted with this building?” put in Brett.

“Haven’t I just said so,”—impatiently. “Miss Thornton brought her maid with her because she knows I have but two old servants, enough for my bachelor needs, but she very naturally considered that my other guests, Mrs. Truxton and Miss Carew, might desire a maid’s services.”

“I understand. Were you aware that Annette intended to sleep in the southwest chamber?” continued Brett.

“I was not. If I had known it I would not have permitted her to occupy the room.”

“Please tell me the exact superstition which hangs about that room,” said the coroner, after a brief pause.

“It is believed that no light can be burned in that room after eleven o’clock; after that time it is always extinguished by some mysterious agency.”

“How comes it, then, that you allowed gas pipes to be placed in the room?”

“I gave the contract to have gas put in the house years ago, at the same time that I had running water and plumbing installed. The gas contractor naturally fitted each room with modern appliances. As the room is never used after dark, I never gave the matter another thought.”

“Then why was a drop light fastened to the wall bracket by the side of the bed?”

“I’ve been puzzling over that fact myself,”—the Colonel tipped his chair back on two legs,—“that drop light is one I used to have in my bedroom. It didn’t give very satisfactory light to read by, so several months ago I purchased another, transferred the chimney and shade to the new lamp, and sent the other one into the storeroom.”

“Then it is highly probable that Annette found it there, and, wishing to read in bed, attached it to the bracket herself.”

“And thereby sealed her own fate,” added the Colonel solemnly.

“Do you really think that supernatural means caused her death?” asked the coroner incredulously.

“It seems to be either that or suicide.”

“From what I hear I incline to the latter theory,” acknowledged Dr. Penfield. “I don’t take much stock in ghosts or other hallucinations, Colonel, with all due respect to you, sir. Will you be so kind as to ask your cousin, Mrs. Truxton, to step here for a few minutes?”

On being summoned by Colonel Thornton, Mrs. Truxton hastened into the library. Her statements added nothing to what the coroner already knew, and she was quickly excused and Eleanor Thornton sent for.

Douglas had not seen her since carrying her to her room some hours before, and he was shocked by her appearance. “My precious darling!” he murmured in a tone which reached her ear alone as he opened the library door to admit her. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

She shook her head and smiled at him, a smile which hurt him woefully, for it showed the effort it cost her. Dr. Penfield, struck by her beauty, which was enhanced by her unnaturally flushed cheeks and the dark shadows under her large eyes, rose and pulled forward a chair for her use.

“I won’t detain you long, Miss Thornton,” he commenced, reseating himself. “Did you know your maid was sleeping in the southwest chamber?”

“No, I did not. On the contrary, she told me, when helping me change my dress for dinner, that she had been put in the room over mine.”

“When did you last see your maid?”

“She came to my assistance when Miss Carew fainted, shortly after dinner. After I had seen Miss Carew revived and put in bed I had Annette help me out of my evening dress, and then told her to go to bed, as I would not require her services any longer.”

“At what hour was that?”

“Shortly before ten o’clock. I do not recollect the exact time.”

“Did she say nothing to you then about having moved down on your floor?”

“Not a word.”

“Has your maid had an unfortunate love affair?” inquired the coroner.

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Has she been despondent of late?”

“No; she seemed in her usual good spirits.”

“Do you know if she had lost money?”

“I never heard her mention such a thing.”

“Has she been with you long?”

“About two years.”

“And you found her——?”

“Excellent in every way; honest, reliable, and capable.”

“Miss Thornton,” facing her directly, “have you formed any theory as to how your maid came to be asphyxiated?”

“I think it was due to an accident. She probably fell asleep, leaving the gas burning.”

“But Mr. Hunter found the two windows closed, no possible draft could get into the room to blow out the light—nor could any person have blown it out, for the door, the only way of entrance, was locked on the inside. How was it possible to have an accident under those circumstances?”

“Possibly it was suicide, though I cannot bear to think so,” Eleanor spoke with much feeling.

“Miss Thornton,”—Brett rose, walked over to the table, and stood looking directly down into the lovely face raised so confidingly to his—“did your maid ever utter any threats against Captain Frederick Lane in your presence?”

“Never!” Eleanor’s eyes opened in surprise.

“Did she ever insinuate that he had something to do with the murder of Senator Carew?”

“No, never!” But Eleanor’s firm voice quivered as she uttered the denial, and Brett detected it. His eyes lighted with excitement.

“What was Captain Lane doing here last night?”

The question was unexpected, and Eleanor started perceptibly.

“He came to see Miss Carew,” she admitted, faintly.

“Did he see your maid?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Did Captain Lane spend the evening with you and Colonel Thornton?”

“Oh, no, he only saw Miss Carew.”

“How long was he with Miss Carew?”

“About ten minutes.”

“Indeed!” Brett paused and spoke with greater deliberation. “Captain Lane, who is being shadowed by several of my men, was seen to enter this house last night between nine and half-past—and, though my men waited all night, he was never seen to leave it.”