"One?"

"More than one."

"Two?"

"Yes."

"Three?"

"Possibly."

"And when did you arrive?"

"At 3:32."

"How long had the fire been going when you arrived?"

"As nearly as I could estimate from the headway, about five minutes. Opinions varied a good deal on that point."

"Let us say five and add the three which elapsed before you heard the explosion. Then if there were a bomb in the study or library and its fuse were lighted at the start of the fire that fuse must have burned for eight minutes before it reached the powder."

"He's a genius," exclaimed Wye, but Ecks was sketching s.h.a.garach's forehead and did not answer.

"I suppose so," said the fireman.

"A somewhat incombustible fuse. But if the fuse were not lighted at the start then presumably the fire started at the opposite end of the room and worked its way slowly toward the fuse?"

"Presumably."

"Even so, it seems likely that the fuse must have been boxed up tightly or it would have caught earlier."

"It certainly does to me, sir, though I haven't given the subject any thought."

"It is not a difficult one," said s.h.a.garach. "Wouldn't you say, then, that this fire must have been started by some one who was ignorant that there was a bomb in the room in close proximity to the safe? Otherwise he would have lighted the fuse."

"Perhaps."

"And consequently by some one else than Floyd?"

"I object," said the district attorney. He ought to have objected long before, since s.h.a.garach's previous question was wholly out of order, but his attention had been distracted by McCausland.

"If it had been the incendiary's desire to secure a gradual spread of the flames, so as to permit himself ample time to escape, while at the same time insuring the destruction of the safe, would it not have been prudent for him to apply the match at the other end of the room, as he appears to have done?" asked the district attorney. But s.h.a.garach objected to this in his turn and the two questions were left unanswered, locking horns like tangled stags in the minds of the wondering jurors.

"May I add one further question to my cross-examination of Mr. Fowler?" asked s.h.a.garach, when the fireman was dismissed.

"How long, Mr. Fowler, would it take for that bomb to explode after the tip of the fuse had ignited?"

"About a minute," answered the chemist.

"For the present," said the district attorney, "we are obliged to rest this portion of the case. The fatality which has pursued all the occupants of the Arnold house, even to the discharged coachman, Dennis Mungovan, has deprived us by Miss Lund's death of a witness who would have directly and immediately connected the bomb which Floyd constructed with the mutilated safe. This afternoon we shall enter upon a different phase of the subject--namely, an earlier attempt on the part of the accused to obtain possession of the will."

CHAPTER LI.

GLORY ALLELUIA.

"Saul Aronson," called the district attorney.

s.h.a.garach's a.s.sistant had been amazed to find a subpoena thrust into his hands just as he returned to his desk after the noon recess. Of what service could he be to the prosecution? As little as possible, he inwardly determined, while he made his way to the stand.

"Do you know a young lady named Miss Serena Lamb?" asked Badger, in his iciest voice. The cruelty of it was exquisite. If he had discharged a revolver at Aronson point blank the witness could not have looked more terror-stricken. To have the secrets of the affections thus held up to public scorn! To be compelled to wear on his sleeve the heart whose bleeding in his bosom he had with difficulty stanched! His face grew pale--or, rather, a mottled white. But s.h.a.garach rose on purpose and his master's presence acted like a cordial on the fainting witness.

"Yes, sir," he stammered out, marveling what was to come; how long the torture would be prolonged.

"That is all for the present," said Badger.

"Prof. Borrowscales," called the district attorney, and a shadow of disappointment fell on the court-room. There is no testimony less amusing than that of the writing expert and none more inconclusive. At least eleven jurors out of twelve disregard it and form their own opinions by the rule of thumb.

"You are a professor of penmanship?" asked the district attorney.

"An expert in handwriting, yes, sir."

"Of many years' experience?"

"Twenty-nine."

"Have you examined the papers submitted to you by Inspector McCausland?"

"I have microscopically."

"Describe them, please, for the benefit of the jury."

"This one is a page of ma.n.u.script purporting to be the work of Robert Floyd and bearing his signature. The other contains a chemical formula."

"The bomb formula, taken from the desk of the accused," explained the district attorney. "Anything else?"

"A number, apparently jotted down on the same sheet."

"Please read out that number."

"No. 1863."

"What do you say as to the ident.i.ty of the handwritings, professor?"

"I give it as my conviction that they are the same. The capital Q----"

"Never mind the capital Q," interrupted s.h.a.garach. "We admit that the formula was written by the accused."

"Retain the autograph for one moment," said the district attorney. "There was another article submitted to you for comparison. What was that?"

"A blotting-pad," said the professor, holding it up in his fingers and showing a clean side, bearing the reversed impressions of two or three lines of writing.

"Will you kindly hold that up to the mirror you have brought and read what may be read of the writing taken up by the pad?"

"Looks to me as if it came from the back of a postal card. Just fits that size and says: "'Dear Aronson: The lock that I told you about still sticks. Please come and open it. I will not trust it to an ordinary locksmith.

"ROBERT FLOYD.'"

"As to the signature and writing? Are they genuine?"

"Beyond peradventure and on the strength of my twenty-nine years of experience."

"During your twenty-nine years of experience," asked s.h.a.garach, "have you ever failed to arrive at the conclusion your employers expected?"

"I object," said the district attorney, and s.h.a.garach withdrew his question. It was one of those ramrod questions, the office of which is simply to drive the charge home and then be withdrawn.

"Will you kindly write your own name on that?"

He handed up a common paper block and a pen. The expert flushed a little and put the pen in his mouth. This blackened his lips and raised a t.i.tter. His tongue rolled in his cheek like a schoolboy's while he wrote. The effort was unconsciously prolonged. s.h.a.garach took the autograph and pa.s.sed it to the jury. A broad smile spread from face to face like a row of lamps lighted successively by an electric current. Then the half-legible scrawl was pa.s.sed to the district attorney and s.h.a.garach sat down.

"I do not understand," said the district attorney, "that you profess to be an ornamental writer?"

"It is not necessary, Brother Bigelow," interrupted s.h.a.garach again. "We acknowledge the note on the postal card."

"He has a spark of humor, after all," said Ecks, who was still in his seat.

"What do you suppose Aronson has to do with it?" asked Wye, while the jury studied the blotter, one after another, mirror in hand.

"Pineapple Jupiter!" called Badger. The old negro hobbled to the stand and immediately opened his mouth in a good-natured smile, which set the spectators' lips working responsively.

"This is a murder case, involving life and death," said Chief Justice Playfair, with dignity, and the court officers rapped their staffs and bustled about, commanding silence.

"You know Mr. Aronson, the last witness but one?" asked Badger.

"See him most every day, sah."

"Do you also know a young lady named Miss Serena Lamb?"

"See her most every day, sah."

"Did you ever introduce Mr. Aronson to Miss Lamb?"

"Yes, sah."

"When and where?"

"Well, you see, I fotched him up to her and says I, 'Here's a convert, sister,' says I. 'Hallelujah!' says she, and that's how I done it, sah."

"Where was this?"

"Down on the square, sah--Salem street."

"And when?"

"When?"

"Yes, when did you introduce Mr. Aronson and Miss Lamb?"

The negro scratched his woolly poll.

"Clean forgot de time, sah."

"Was it a year ago?"

"'Bout a year, sah."

"Couldn't you fix the time exactly? It is important."

"Well, you see, sah, it was about de second-last time I got a hair-cut."

This answer provoked a roar, but the district attorney took the witness in hand.

"Can you count?"

"Oh, yes, sah; I can count, sah."

"Up to how far?"

"Up to ten mostly, sah."

"You can't read?"

"Born before Ma.s.sah Linkun, sah. Chillun can read. Old folks picking cotton; no time for school, sah."

"And you reckon time by the occasions when your hair needs cutting?"

"Yes, sah; wife and I reckons pretty close on that, sah."

"An excellent way for want of a better hour-gla.s.s," said the district attorney. "About how often do you get your hair cut from winter to winter?"

"Oh, about six times, sah. My ole wool grows putty stiddy-reg'lar, sah."