"He will ask questions of all who know anything about the matter, and try to discover the one who did the awful deed."
"Of course, Janet," observed George Lawrence, "we must call the coroner. It is always done, I believe, in such a case as this."
"Very well," said Janet; "but it is all so dreadful—I can't realize it. Who killed Uncle Robert? Was it a burglar? Did he steal anything?"
She seemed to be talking quite at random. George answered her kindly, and his manner was gentle and affectionate.
"We don't know, Janet dear," he said. "That is what the coroner will inquire into."
I was thankful that my own business did not imperatively demand my presence at my office that day, and I concluded to stay where I was, at any rate, until the coroner arrived.
I would doubtless be called as a witness, and, too, I trusted I could be of help to Janet.
The girl puzzled while she fascinated me. She seemed so helpless and alone, and yet she showed a strange courage—almost bravado.
George Lawrence, too, was reserved and self-contained, and I imagined they both inherited something of their dead uncle's strength of character.