Wiping the sweat from his brow, he stood trembling. There was something in the silence surrounding him which seemed to go to his heart; for his free right hand rose unconsciously to his breast, and clung there. Sweetwater began to wish himself a million of miles away from this scene. This was not the enjoyable part of his work. This was the part from which he always shrunk with overpowering distaste.
The district attorney's voice sounded thin, almost piercing, as he made this remark:
"You entered by an open window. Why didn't you go in by the door?"
"I hadn't the key. I had only abstracted the one which opens the wine-vault. The rest I left on the ring. It was the sight of this key, lying on our hall-table, which first gave me the idea. I feel like a cad when I think of it, but that's of no account now. All I really care about is for you to believe what I tell you. I wasn't mixed up in that matter of my sister's death. I didn't know about it—I wish I had. Adelaide might have been saved; we might all have been saved; but it was not to be."
Flushed, he slowly sank back into his seat. No complaint, now, of being in a hurry, or of his anxiety to regain his sick sister's bedside. He seemed to have forgotten those fears in the perturbations of the moment. His mind and interest were here; everything else had grown dim with distance.
"Did you try the front door?"
"What was the use? I knew it to be locked."
"What was the use of trying the window? Wasn't it also, presumably, locked?"
The red mounted hot and feverish to his cheek.
"You'll think me no better than a street urchin or something worse," he exclaimed. "I knew that window; I had been through it before. You can move that lock with your knife-blade. I had calculated on entering that way."
"Mr. Ranelagh's story receives confirmation," commented the district attorney, wheeling suddenly towards the coroner. "He says that he found this window unlocked, when he approached it with the idea of escaping that way."
Arthur Cumberland remained unmoved.
The district attorney wheeled back.
"There were a number of bottles taken from the wine-vault; some half dozen were left on the kitchen table. Why did you trouble yourself to carry up so many?"
"Because my greed outran my convenience. I thought I could lug away an armful, but there are limits to one's ability. I realised this when I remembered how far I had to go, and so left the greater part of them behind."
"Why, when you had a team ready to carry you?"
"A—I had no team." But the denial cost him something. His cheek lost its ruddiness, and took on a sickly white which did not leave it again as long as the interview lasted.
"You had no team? How then did you manage to reach home in time to make your way back to Cuthbert Road by half-past eleven?"
"I didn't go home. I went straight across the golf-links. If fresh snow hadn't fallen, you would have seen my tracks all the way to Cuthbert Road."
"If fresh snow had not fallen, we should have known the whole story of that night before an hour had passed. How did you carry those bottles?"
"In my overcoat pockets. These pockets," he blurted out, clapping his hands on either side of him.
"Had it begun to snow when you left the clubhouse?"
"No."
"Was it dark?"
"I guess not; the links were bright as day, or I shouldn't have got over them as quickly as I did."
"Quickly? How quickly?" The district attorney stole a glance at the coroner, which made Sweetwater advance a step from his corner.
"I don't know. I don't understand these questions," was the sullen reply.
"You walked quickly. Does that mean you didn't look back?"
"How, look back?"
"Your sister lit a candle in the small room where her coat was found.
This light should have been visible from the golf-links."
"I didn't see any light."
He was almost rough in these answers. He was showing himself now at his very worst.
A few more questions followed, but they were of minor import, and aroused less violent feeling. The serious portion of the examination, if thus it might be called, was over, and all parties showed the reaction which follows all unnatural restraint or subdued excitement.
The coroner glanced meaningly at the district attorney, who, tapping with his fingers on the table, hesitated for a moment before he finally turned again upon Arthur Cumberland.
"You wish to return to your sister? You are at liberty to do so; I will trouble you no more to-night. Your sleigh is at the door, I presume."
The young man nodded, then rising slowly, looked first at the district attorney, then at the coroner, with a glance of searching inquiry which did not escape the watchful eye of Sweetwater, lurking in the rear. There was no display of anger, scarcely of impatience, in him now. If he spoke, they did not hear him; and when he moved, it was heavily and with a drooping head. They watched him go, each as silent as he. The coroner tried to speak, but succeeded no better than the boy himself. When the door opened under his hand, they all showed relief, but were startled back into their former attention by his turning suddenly in the doorway with this final remark:
"What did you say about a bottle with a special label on it being found at our house? It never was, or, if it was, some fellow has been playing you a trick. I carried off those two bottles myself. One you see there; the other is—I can't tell where; but I didn't take it home. That you can bet on."
One more look, followed by a heavy frown and a low growling sound in his throat—which may have been his way of saying good-bye—and he was gone.
Sweetwater came forward and shut the door; then the three men drew more closely together, and the district attorney remarked:
"He is better at the house. I hadn't the heart on your account, Dr.
Perry, to hurry matters faster than necessity compels. What a lout he is!
Pardon me, but what a lout he is to have had two such uncommon and
attractive sisters."
"And such a father," interposed the coroner.
"Just so—and such a father. Sweetwater? Hey! what's the matter? You don't look satisfied. Didn't I cover the ground?"
"Fully, sir, so far as I see now, but—"
"Well, well—out with it."
"I don't know what to out with. It's all right but—I guess I'm a fool, or tired, or something. Can I do anything more for you? If not, I should like to hunt up a bunk. A night's sleep will make a man of me again."
"Go then; that is, if Dr. Perry has no orders for you."
"None. I want my sleep, too." But Dr. Perry had not the aspect of one who expects to get it.
Sweetwater brightened. A few more words, some understanding as to the morrow, and he was gone. The district attorney and the coroner still sat, but very little passed between them. The clock overhead struck the hour; both looked up but neither moved. Another fifteen minutes, then the telephone rang. The coroner rose and lifted the receiver. The message could be heard by both gentlemen, in the extreme quiet of this midnight hour.
"Dr. Perry?"
"Yes, I'm listening."
"He came in at a quarter to twelve, greatly agitated and very white. I ran upon him in the lower hall, and he looked angry enough to knock me down; but he simply let out a curse and passed straight up to his sister's room. I waited till he came out; then I managed to get hold of the nurse and she told me this queer tale:
"He was all in a tremble when he came in, but she declares he had not been drinking. He went immediately to the bedside; but his sister was asleep, and he didn't stay there, but went over where the nurse was, and began to hang about her till suddenly she felt a twitch at her side and, looking quickly, saw the little book she carries there, falling back into place. He had lifted it, and probably read what she had written in it during his absence.