"We have been groping all about the focal point," Mr. Mountjoy whispered to the Coroner and Converse. "We have not yet laid our finger upon the primum mobile. There is a question that will open up the whole thing, if we can only find it. Think!" And he stopped, staring fixedly at the detective.
The Captain remained silent a few moments—a long time it seemed to those who waited—before he spoke. Then he whispered to Mr. Merkel, who turned immediately to the witness and asked:
"Doctor, do you know, or have you any reason to believe, there was any person other than yourself, Ferdinand Howe, J. Howard Lynden, Clay Fairchild, and William Slade on the second floor of the Nettleton Building at or about the time of Señor de Sanchez's death?"
The answer came unhesitatingly.
"I have not."
But was that an expression of relief that hid the worry in his eyes, that lightened the shadow on his face? or were the worry and the shadow still there? Neither the District Attorney nor Mr. Converse could determine.
"Very well, Doctor, that is all," said the Coroner. "Call General Westbrook."
Stiffly erect, and with an air of obeying only the inevitable mandate of Justice, the General entered the room.
However, little additional light was shed upon the mystery by his testimony; though it cannot be said that it was entirely devoid of interest. He related at length his acquaintance with the deceased, but with a reserve no one could ever attempt or expect to penetrate. He stated that their relations in Mexico,—which had been solely of a business nature,—had been dissolved by mutual agreement; that there had been no subsequent correspondence between them, as their affairs had been entirely wound up; and that his social connection with Señor de Sanchez dated only from that gentleman's arrival in the city. He would not undertake to say that Señor de Sanchez had or had not a living enemy. If there were any such he was in complete ignorance of that person's existence.
"General, did not Señor de Sanchez desire to marry your daughter?"