"At nearly eleven o'clock last night. Mr. Mainwaring had just bidden his guests good-night, and I believe they had all retired to their rooms, leaving him and myself together upon the veranda in front of the house. I remained with him about ten minutes, I should judge, talking over the events of the day which had been of unusual interest. I remember his remarking that he should not retire for an hour or so, as, to use his own expression, his thoughts would not let him sleep. We clasped hands with an exchange of good wishes. That was the last I ever saw him living or heard him speak."
Mr. Whitney's voice trembled slightly towards the close of his recital, but as he repeated Hugh Mainwaring's words a smile of scorn passed over the face of Mrs. LaGrange, who was seated directly opposite.
"Will you please state," said the coroner, "how Mr. Mainwaring had been engaged during the day, yesterday."
"Until about half-past two his time was spent in the preparation, with the assistance of his secretary and myself, and the execution of his last will and testament. The remainder of the day was devoted to the entertainment of his guests."
"Will you give briefly and in general terms the conditions of the will."
"With the exception of an annuity to his housekeeper and a handsome bequest to her son, it conveyed everything to his cousin and namesake, Hugh Mainwaring, Jr., whom he intended to-day to formally declare his heir."
"Where was this document placed, Mr. Whitney?"
"It was, at Mr. Mainwaring's request, placed by his secretary on his desk in the tower-room."
"You can give no further information regarding this will, now missing?"
"Only this," replied Mr. Whitney, with marked emphasis, "that we now have positive proof that the will was burned."