“Nelson knew how to play on people’s emotions and made up a plausible tale; but as the coroner says, he has given no proof to back his statement that Mrs. Trevor was killed before he entered the house,” said Philip White, in answer to one of Peggy’s questions. She and her grandmother were occupying their old seats in the library, and Dick Tillinghast and White had just joined them. Philip White, who stood at the head of the district bar, was not one to form opinions hastily. Therefore, he was usually listened to. He was a warm friend of the Attorney General’s, and had been a frequent visitor at his house.
“No, Miss Peggy,” he went on, “the fellow’s just a clever criminal.”
“I rather believe in him,” said Peggy, stoutly. “He didn’t have to tell what he knew.”
“That’s just it—it was a neat play to the galleries. He would have been summoned before the jury anyway, and his story dragged from him piece by piece. He hoped it would tell in his favor if he volunteered and gave a dramatic account of what occurred that night.”
“Where did he get his information about the papers being in the safe?” queried Mrs. Macallister, who had been an interested listener.
“Probably there is some leak in the Department of Justice.”
The low hum of voices ceased as the coroner’s clerk rose and called the Attorney General to the stand.
Many a sympathetic eye followed his tall, erect figure, as he passed quietly through the room. Edmund Trevor had won distinction early in life by his unremitting labor and ability. A New Yorker born and bred, he had given up a large law practice to accept the President’s tender of the portfolio of Attorney General. His devotion to his beautiful wife, some twenty years his junior, had been often commented upon by their friends. While not, strictly speaking, a handsome man, his dark hair, silvering at the temples, his fine eyes and firm mouth gave him an air of distinction. He was very popular with both men and women, as his courtly manner and kind heart gained him a warm place in their regard. To-day sorrow and fatigue were visible on his face. He looked careworn and troubled.
After he had answered the usual questions as to his age, full name, and length of residence in Washington, the coroner turned directly to him.
“How old was Mrs. Trevor, and where was she born?” he asked.