At the answer Lois drew a long breath of relief; her too active imagination had attributed unnecessary meaning to the coroner’s first question; and she listened with abating interest to the few questions Coroner Penfield asked the fire chief before dismissing him. The latter was just leaving the platform when Penfield called him back.
“One moment,” he exclaimed. “Was any piece of furniture left intact in the burning room?”
“A desk between the two doors leading to the hall and Ogden’s bedroom, was badly scorched, but being of metal was not seriously damaged. The fire apparently had just gotten to it a few minutes before my men entered.”
“How about Mr. Ogden’s desk in which he kept his boxes of cartridges?”
“Oh, that was directly in the line of fire, and was burned to a crisp; nothing was left of it but a heap of smoldering ashes.”
The coroner dropped his pencil, which he had picked up to scribble a hasty note, and nodded to the fire chief.
“I have finished, thank you,” and as the man stepped down, he spoke to the Morgue Master. “Tell Charles Whelan, the Ogden butler, to step here,” and Lois McLane sank back in her chair in disappointment; apparently she would have to remain indefinitely at the Morgue.
That Charles did not enjoy being a witness was plain to be seen from his demeanor, and Lois pitied the man as he sat on the extreme edge of his chair, his hands playing nervously with his hat. His voice, as the Morgue Master administered the oath, could scarcely be heard two feet away, and he was cautioned to speak louder.
“What is your full name?” inquired Penfield, trying by his reassuring manner to put the servant at ease.
“Charles Wilson Whelan, sor, thank you, sor.”