As the coroner ceased speaking the jury filed out of the room, and for a time nothing was heard but the rustle of paper and scratching of pens as the reporters hurriedly arranged their copy. At the end of an hour the jury was back in the room, and signs of past dissensions were indicated in each man’s flushed countenance as they faced the coroner, who had risen at their entrance.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” Penfield’s sharp voice broke the stillness. “What is your verdict?”
“We find,” answered the foreman, and paused to clear his throat. “We find that Representative James Patterson came to his death in the city of Washington, in the residence of Walter Ogden, by a bullet fired from a thirty-two caliber revolver in the hands of a person or persons unknown.”
CHAPTER XIX
UNEXPECTED EVIDENCE
There was an uncomfortable silence in the Ogdens’ drawing room, which no one cared to break, and Charles, the butler, his equilibrium not fully restored since his appearance at the inquest that afternoon, rattled the cups and saucers on his silver tray as he passed the after-dinner coffee in a way which set Mrs. Ogden’s teeth on edge.
“There, there, run along,” she exclaimed in an annoyed aside and dropping her usual dignified manner of addressing her servants. “And whatever you do, Charles, don’t rattle the silver in the dining room. Small noises,” she added, addressing Professor Norcross, who sat not far from her, “small noises are more upsetting than big ones.”
“On the same principle that human nature can face undaunted the emergencies of life, and succumb to every day trivial annoyances,” answered the professor, stirring his coffee. “You must be worn out, Mrs. Ogden, with all that you have been through during the past twenty-four hours.”
His sympathetic tone brought tears to her eyes. “Isn’t it awful?” she moaned. “The fire was bad enough, but now—murder! Oh, Walter, why did you ever rent so unlucky a house?”
Ogden threw down the magazine he had been glancing over. “A tactless speech, Jane,” and he frowned at his wife. “Sorry, Norcross.”
“That I own this house is incidental,” put in Norcross quickly, as Mrs. Ogden colored in confusion. “You haven’t hurt my feelings a bit. I have no association with this house; I merely bought it as an investment, and to keep my legal residence in Washington.”