“No, not the will that bequeathed you the house, but a later will that made a different disposal of it.”
“There wasn’t such a one,” said Miss Morton, in a low, scared voice.
“What, then, was the paper which you took from Miss Van Norman’s desk, carried to your own room, and burned?”
The coroner’s voice was not persuasive now; it was accusing, and his face was stern as he awaited her reply.
Again Miss Morton’s face blanched to white. Her thin lips formed a straight line, and her eyes fell, but her voice was strong and sibilant, as she fairly hissed:
“How dare you! Of what do you accuse me?”
“Of burning a paper which you took secretly from Miss Van Norman’s private desk.”
A moment’s hesitation, and then, “I did not do it,” she said clearly.
“But you were seen to do it.”
“By whom?”