“What was it about the door that caused her to scream?” asked the coroner.
“The panels, which are made in the shape of a cross,” explained Doctor Marsh. “It seems that Miss Carew apparently suffers from nightmare which takes the form of a door with panels of that shape. She declares it always foretells disaster. When she found such a door confronting her in the ghostly moonlight it was too much for her nerves and she screamed.”
“What is all this I am told about the southwest chamber being haunted?”
Marsh shrugged his shoulders. “I have resided all my life in Georgetown and have always heard that a room in this house was supposed to be haunted. That particular kind of door with the panels forming a cross is called the ‘witches’ door,’ and was put there in the days just after the Revolution. It is to ward off evil, so the legend goes.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem to have fulfilled its mission.” The coroner carefully turned a page in his notebook and made an entry. “I am very much obliged to you, Doctor,” as Marsh prepared to depart. “I wish you would let me know when Miss Carew is in fit condition to see me.”
“I will; good-bye,” and the busy physician beat a hasty retreat.
“Suppose you get the butler, Brett,” said the coroner when the two men were alone.
“May I suggest, Dr. Penfield, that you allow Mr. Hunter to be present when the servants are examined,” began Brett. “He is deeply interested in the murder of Senator Carew, and is assisting me in trying to unravel that mystery, and I think”—deliberately—“this French maid’s singular death has something to do with the other tragedy.”
“Indeed!” The coroner’s eyes kindled with fresh interest. “Certainly, Brett, if you think Mr. Hunter should be present, call him in. I will be glad of his assistance.”
The detective hastened out of the room, to return within a few minutes with Douglas and Nicodemus. The old darky was gray with fright, and his eyes had not regained their natural size since being awakened by the commotion attending the breaking in of the door. He had lain in his bed, too frightened to get up, until Douglas entered his room and hauled him out from under the bedclothes and made him go downstairs and build the fire for the cook, Sophy, who was more composed than her brother, and busied herself in preparing coffee and an early breakfast for those who desired it.