In Jeopardy

by Van Tassel Sutphen

I happened to catch Miss Trevor's eye, and I could have sworn that a spark of relief-cum-triumph burned there for the infinitesimal part of a second. We trooped into the hall and left the house in order to gain the library terrace.

There was the door, cleverly masked by vines, in a corner of the chimney stack. Moreover, its wooden surface had been veneered with stucco, colored and lined to simulate the brick of the chimney; the deception was quite good enough to pass casual inspection.

"The vines don't count for much," said Warriner. "Easy to push them aside. But hullo! what's that?"

Plastered squarely on the line of the door opening was the empty cocoon of a moth. It was perfectly evident that the door could not have been opened without destroying the fragile structure, and of course it must have been fixed in position months before to give time for the transformation of the pupa into the perfect insect. That seemed to settle the question of either entrance or exit for a period long antedating the death of Francis Graeme.

"Pretty conclusive testimony," remarked Warriner. "I take it we're all witness to the fact, and so if no one has any objection——" And then, before a protest could have been voiced, he coolly picked off the cocoon and dropped it into his pocket.

When we were reassembled in the library John Thaneford again suggested that we might proceed to the formality of a verdict; he pointed out that there was no shred of evidence connecting any definite person with the tragedy. But once more Warriner was ready with a counter-proposal; he wanted to examine the two negroes who were working on the south lawn between those fateful hours of noon and two o'clock on the twenty-first of June.

"But Doctor Marcy has their positive assurance," urged Thaneford, "that no stranger was seen about the place that day. Isn't that so, doctor?" he continued, turning to Marcy.

Doctor Marcy nodded. "Yes, and I've known both men all my life," he said. "I can vouch for them as being perfectly straight."

"Better have them in and get their evidence on the record at first hand," persisted Warriner.

There was incontrovertible reason in this, and Zack and Zeb were sent for. John Thaneford still looked like a thunder cloud, and I found it difficult to make up my mind. Was he annoyed at the masterful way in which his official authority was being usurped, or was he inwardly anxious to keep the inquiry within conventional bounds; was it even possible that he was seeking to shield somebody? His personal skirts must be clear, for it was positively established that he had been at "Thane Court" the entire day of June the twenty-first. Being a relative, the tidings of Mr. Graeme's death had been sent to him by telephone, and he had replied that he would come immediately to the "Hundred." But he had not put in an appearance until the next morning. The one suspicious circumstance was his willingness, almost eagerness, to accept Doctor Marcy's certificate without making any investigation on his own account, coupled with his subsequent reluctance to reopen the inquiry. Finally, his attitude throughout the inquest had been restless and perfunctory; it could be easily seen that the exercise of his duty as coroner was most distasteful to him. But I was keenly aware that I did not like John Thaneford; all the more reason that I should not do him any injustice. And so I kept my cogitations to myself.