"Absolutely not."
"Did you hear the shot fired?"
"I didn't hear a sound after Mr. Whitmore entered the office."
"And your hearing—is it good?"
"Perfect."
After putting the same questions to half a dozen other clerks and obtaining similar answers, Coroner Hart decided to save time by addressing himself to the employés in general.
"If anyone saw any person enter that office this morning or heard a shot, let him come forward," he called.
The men stood mute, eyeing one another expectantly, each hoping someone else might have valuable information to offer. The hush finally was broken by a shuffling of feet as two strangers thrust their way through the crowd and ranged themselves on either side of the coroner.
One of the newcomers, the less heavily built of the two, compelled immediate attention by reason of his personality. He carried himself with an air of certainty, as if accustomed to meeting grave problems—and solving them. As he stood at the right of the coroner, his keen gray eyes, set deep beneath the arched outline of his eyebrows, swept the faces of the sorrowing employés, as if trying to read their inmost thoughts. Despite the severe cast of his features, there was something engaging about the man, some magic of personality, that drew one irresistibly toward him.
"Just in time to hear the most important witness," the coroner said to him, at the same time beckoning the office boy to come forward.