Whitney wrinkled his brow in thought. "No," he said. "I can't say that I am aware she did. When I go to my studio, as we usually call my workshop, it is an understood thing that I am not to be disturbed by _anyone_. It is a rule I enforce by dismissal if broken, and the servants have learned by experience to obey."

"Has your household access to your studio when you are not there?"

"No, I securely lock the door whenever I leave the room."

"Are you ever joined while in your studio by your wife and daughter and their friends?"

"Occasionally they bring Miss Grey and Senator Foster in to see my models."

"Did you confide the particulars of your latest invention to Mr.

Spencer?"

"I did not."

"Did he ever show deep interest in it?"

"Only questioned me about it now and then," replied Whitney casually, and Charles Miller alone noted the nervous twitching of his eyelids.

"Was the electric light turned on in Mr. Spencer's room when you left him for the night?"

"Y-yes." Whitney reflected for a moment, then added, "I believe the bulb by the bureau was burning, but I can't swear to it."

"Did Mr. Spencer give you any inkling Tuesday night that he intended to be an early riser on Wednesday morning?"

"No, he never mentioned the subject."

"Was it his custom on previous visits, to walk about your house before the servants were up?"

"Not that I am aware of," Whitney hesitated. "Possibly his intoxicated condition made him desire the fresh air."

"That is possible," admitted the coroner. "But witnesses testify that Mr.

Spencer had on no shoes."

"Which confirms my statement of his condition," replied Whitney quietly.

"No man in his sober senses seeks the street in his stockings."

The coroner, making no comment, held up the knife with the black bone handle. "Have you ever seen this knife before?"

Whitney turned a shade whiter. "I may have; there is nothing distinctive about the knife."

"Is it not used for modeling in clay?"

"I believe so."

"Who made the clay models in your studio, Mr. Whitney?"

"I did."

"Unassisted?"

The question remained unanswered, and after a brief pause the coroner pushed back his chair and rose. "That is all, thank you, Mr.

Whitney; kindly wait in the adjoining room to the left; you will find a chair there."

With a stiff bow Whitney stepped down from the platform and made his way through the silent crowd to the room indicated.

As the door closed behind him, Penfield called the deputy coroner to the stand. Laying down his pen, Dr. North took his seat in the witness chair, and after being sworn, turned to face the jurors, chart in hand.

"You made the autopsy upon Mr. Sinclair Spencer?" questioned Penfield.

"I did, Doctor, in the presence of the morgue master."

"Please state to the jury the result of that autopsy."

The deputy coroner glanced at the notes on the back of the chart, then reversed it, holding it aloft so that all in the room could see the anatomical drawing of a human figure.

"The knife penetrated this section of the neck, just missing the carotid artery," he began, using his pencil to indicate the spot marked on the chart. "While the wound bled profusely it was superficial and did not cause death."

His words created a sensation. Men and women looked at each other, then sat forward in their chairs, the better to view the deputy coroner and his chart.

"Were there indications of death from extreme alcoholism, then?"

questioned the coroner, and his voice sounded unusually loud in the deep silence which prevailed.

"No. Judging by the contents of the stomach Mr. Spencer had not taken alcohol to excess."

"Then if the knife wound was not fatal, and there was no indication of intoxication, what caused Mr. Spencer's death?" demanded the coroner.

"On examination," Dr. North weighed his words carefully, "I found a powerful drug had evidently been used, producing instantaneous death by paralyzing the respiratory center and arresting the heart action."

All in the room were giving the deputy coroner rapt attention. Many had come there purely from love of sensation, and they were not being disappointed. The eyes of Charles Miller and Senator Foster met for a second, then quickly shifted back to the deputy coroner. The reporters, their pencils flying across the sheets, were the only ones in the room who had not glanced at the witness.

"Have you discovered the drug used?" questioned the coroner.

"By tests I found it to be cyanide of potassium, a most deadly poison, generally instantaneous in its action."

"How large a dose was given?"

"I don't know, as there were no indications of it in the gastric contents."

"Then how was the drug administered?"

"Through the blood."

"By means of the knife?"

The deputy coroner looked puzzled. "Possibly," he admitted. "But I could find no trace of the poison left on the knife blade. There was no mark on the body to show how the poison was administered."

"At what hour did death occur?"

"Between three and four in the morning, judging by the condition of the body."