“Even if you know nothing about the happenings last night, perhaps you can still tell us something which may prove a clue,” began Black, and his manner grew more earnest. “Did Mr. Brainard ever tell you that he had enemies?”
“No.”
“Did he ever mention that his life had been threatened?” persisted Black.
“No.” Millicent was white to the lips, and she held out her hands pleadingly. “Indeed, gentlemen, I cannot help you—why ask me questions that I cannot answer?”
The big, raw-boned foreman of the jury met her eyes and moved awkwardly, but before he could think what to say Coroner Black again addressed her.
“There are certain formalities to be gone through, Miss Porter.” As he spoke he walked over to the center table and picked up the blood-stained razor, holding it directly under the rays of the nearest lamp. “Kindly look at this razor and tell us if you know to whom it belongs.”
If the razor had been Medusa’s head it could have held no more deadly fascination for Millicent. She sat as if carved from stone. Coroner Black repeated his question once, and then again—still no response.
Beverly Thorne broke the tense stillness.
“Did Dr. Noyes bid you good-by before departing, Miss Porter?” he asked.
Galvanized into action, Millicent sprang from her seat, and, before anyone guessed her intention or any hand could stay her, she dashed from the library.