“I decline to answer.”
The coroner shrugged his shoulders. He had warned her; he could do no more.
“Very well, Miss Trevor. You may retire.”
With pale, set lips and flashing eyes, Beatrice swept from the room.
For a few minutes the coroner looked over his papers, then he beckoned to his clerk. The next instant, Lieutenant-Commander Donald Gordon had been called to the stand. There was a gasp of amazement from the fashionable spectators. How came Donald Gordon to be mixed up in this affair?
But none was more surprised than Donald Gordon himself. He had been subpœnaed as a witness that morning, to his great disgust, as he had orders to accompany the President to New York on the afternoon train. He reported the subpœna to his superiors, and another aide had been detailed to attend the President in his place.
Gordon had an enviable record as an officer in the United States navy. He had served bravely under Admiral Dewey at Manila, and had on several occasions received special commendation from Congress. Good-looking, in a big, fine way, he was immensely popular in the service, and also with his many civilian friends.
“Mr. Gordon,” said the coroner, after he had been duly sworn, “I wish to ask if this is your property.” As he spoke, he held up a heavy gold signet ring.
Absolute incredulity was plainly written on Gordon’s face, as he leaned over and took the ring.
“Yes,” he said, turning it over, “yes. It is my class ring. My initials and the date of my graduation from the Naval Academy are engraved on the inside.” Then his voice deepened. “How came you to have this ring in your possession?”