He looked about him in a bewildered way
"You knew Mr. Whitmore?" the coroner inquired mildly.
"Yes, I was his confidential secretary," the answer came in weak tones.
The coroner and the two detectives exchanged significant glances.
"Then you are Mr. Beard?" the former inquired.
"Yes."
"Can you throw any light on the murder—have you any idea as to who could have done it?"
As the weighty import of the query slowly dawned on Beard's consciousness, his face contracted until it took on the expression of one whose mental vision is gradually clearing; before whose dazed mind certain images are again taking compact shape, revealing themselves out of the surrounding darkness, sharply cut like figures illumined by the long-stretching rays of a powerful searchlight.