The homelike appearance of the library and the comfortably seated men, some with up-tilted chairs and sprawling legs, robbed the inquest of its legal atmosphere, but as Vera repeated the oath “to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God!” she became conscious of the concentrated regard of her companions, and her back stiffened as she seated herself bolt upright in the chair evidently set aside for the witnesses. She faced the windows, and the afternoon sunshine, like kindly fingers, touched her quaint snow-white cap, and gave a tint of red to her waving, curly hair, as her hazel eyes were calmly lifted to encounter the coroner’s penetrating gaze.
“Are you a native of Washington City, Miss Deane?” he asked, first giving Deputy Coroner McPherson time to resume his seat and prepare to take notes.
“I was born in Washington twenty-six years ago,” was the quiet reply.
“Have you resided continuously in Washington?”
“No, sir, not after the death of my parents,” replied Vera. “I went West, then later studied to be a trained nurse at the University of Pennsylvania, graduating from there four years ago.”
“How long have you been attending Mr. Craig Porter?”
“A little over three months.”
“And what do your duties comprise?”
“I am night nurse.” Her concise reply won an approving nod from one of the jurors.
“Were you summoned to nurse Mr. Bruce Brainard when he became ill last night?”