“You knew it to be this Estelle?”
“Yes; her red hair was hanging in a braid.”
“’Tisn’t red!” snapped Estelle, but Mr. Scofield silenced her with a frown.
“Well, auburn, then,” said Haviland, easily. “You may as well own up, Estelle; what did you go down for?”
“I didn’t go,” repeated the maid, obstinately, and no cross-questioning could prevail on her to admit otherwise.
“All right,” and Haviland shrugged his shoulders; “I suppose it doesn’t matter, as the crime was committed about one o’clock. It’s up to you, Mr. Coroner, to find some person who acted suspiciously nearer that time. And, by the way, as man of business of this estate, unless some worthwhile evidence is forthcoming pretty soon, I’m going to round up a detective or two who will get somewhere.”
“Give us a little more time, Mr. Haviland,” said Scofield, suavely, “this inquest is only begun.”
“Well, get it over with, and then, if the truth hasn’t come to light, I’ll take a hand.”
Miss Frayne was called next, and Anita, with a look of importance on her pretty face, came forward.
Her evidence, at first, was merely a repetition of that already heard, and she corroborated Pauline’s recital of the scene as the two girls bade Miss Carrington good-night.