Mr. Hammersmith approached with a chair.
"Sit," he whispered. Then, as she sank slowly into an attitude of repose, he added gently, "You shall have every consideration. Only tell the truth, the exact truth without any heightening from your imagination, and, above all, don't be frightened."
She may have heard his words, but she gave no sign of comprehending them. She was following the movements of the landlord, who had slipped out to procure the register, and now stood holding it out toward the coroner.
"Let her see for herself," he suggested, with a bland, almost fatherly, air.
Doctor Golden took the book and approached Miss Demarest.
"Here is a name very unlike yours," he pointed out, as her eye fell on the page he had opened to. "Annette Colvin, Lansing, Michigan."
"That is not my name or writing," said she.
"There is room below it for your name and that of your mother, but the space is blank, do you see?"
"Yes, yes, I see," she admitted. "Yet I wrote my name in the book! Or is it all a monstrous dream!"
The coroner returned the book to the landlord.