Though all space was taken, and people were even standing two deep along the walls, yet at the door late arrivals were trying to crowd their way into the room. The murder had brought them out—that strange streak of cruelty or morbidness which is in so many people. I saw Ranville give the place a curious look, and knew that he was thinking of similar scenes in England.
The sheriff, a tall, heavy-set man, rose and announced that no more people would be allowed in the room and requested that those present be silent while the inquest was on. And then, within the next ten minutes, the jury was chosen. It took but a little time to secure them, for they simply called twelve men—men who filed into the jury box with a very serious air, and men who also seemed secretly well pleased at the place of importance which was given.
In rapid succession Carter, Ranville and myself went on the stand and told the story of our finding of the body. Ranville's announcement that he was an Inspector of Scotland Yard created a good deal of comment, and I heard whispers go around the room. But our testimony was of little importance, for we had nothing new that we could tell. When I stepped down from the stand, the coroner looked at the papers on his desk, then motioned to the chief and after a moment's whispered conversation called the name of the housekeeper, Mrs. Lawrence.
The housekeeper went slowly to the chair and seated herself with a tired air. For some reason she was wearing black, and her red face was stern as she turned to face the coroner. She was far from being a good-looking woman, and I judged as I looked at her that she had a temper. The mouth was small, and the narrow lips were set in a stern thin line. Ranville gave her one look and leaned over me to say: “She has got her back up over something.”
Her first statements had to do with Warren's household. She had been his housekeeper for some years, living in the house when he was out of the country. I judged she thought that her long years of service had given her a place of authority, for she spoke as if she had complete reign over the household. When he returned from China, she had secured a cook and a maid and there was also a man working around the grounds. She told us it was Warren's practice to work in his library during the afternoon and that he had dinner about seven o'clock.
“Did he work there alone?” asked the coroner.
“Oh, no; his secretary, Florence Harlan, was there with him.”
She paused a moment and then went on to say that she understood that Mr. Warren was writing a book, though she was not sure. All visitors to the house afternoons were told to go to the library. There had not, however, been many people to see him the last few days.
“Now,” came the coroner's voice. “Suppose you tell us just what you were doing yesterday afternoon.”
“Well,” answered the woman, “Mr. Warren had told me Mr. Carter and two friends were coming to dinner. I arranged the dinner with the cook and spent part of the afternoon getting the dining room ready. About seven o'clock Mr. Carter came with his friends. I was getting rather worried then.”