“Of myself,” replied Ethel faintly. She did not look at Lois, and missed her sudden start and low-toned ejaculation.
“Have you recovered the miniature from among Mr. Patterson’s effects?” asked the coroner.
“Not yet; I—I fainted on hearing of Mr. Patterson’s death, and when I felt equal to making inquiries, I was told that Dr. McLane had turned over everything found in Mr. Patterson’s possession to the police. I have not seen Dr. McLane since learning this.”
“I see.” Coroner Penfield contemplated her thoughtfully. The delicate, refined beauty of her young face, her trim figure and stylish clothes all possessed unconscious appeal, and Penfield, seeing her effort at forced composure, altered his plans.
“I will not detain you farther,” he announced. “Look out for that bottom step,” and Ethel thankfully accepted his assistance, conscious that her knees were trembling under her. But her ordeal in the witness chair had been briefer than she had dared to hope, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips at sight of Lois McLane standing by the doorway.
The two friends left the court room together, but on the other side of the door Ethel halted involuntarily, for at their entrance Julian Barclay had turned from moody contemplation of the few pictures the room boasted, and approached them. He shook hands with Mrs. McLane, his gaze traveling over her shoulder to Ethel.
As their eyes met, Ethel almost cried out, there was such dumb agonizing appeal in his dark eyes. She leaned impulsively forward, but the words on her parted lips were checked by the entrance of the Morgue Master.
“You are wanted, Mr. Barclay,” he announced.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE UNKNOWN
With a muttered apology, which Ethel but half caught, Julian Barclay stepped by them and went immediately into the courtroom. The spectators had thinned out appreciably as the inquest continued, and but a handful of people heard the Morgue Master’s slightly hoarse voice administer the oath to Barclay.