"You have no orderly programme arranged for every day?"

"Well, it varies."

"But never includes any useful occupation, I believe?"

"Well, I can afford to enjoy life."

"You are rich, you said. How fortunate to be rich! The great problem of life then is solved for you by the drawing of a quarterly check?"

"Well, not exactly."

"If you require money, however, you simply ask for it and it comes forth like the genii of the lamp?"

"I can usually meet what expenses I incur."

"Do you remember a man named Reddy?"

"Reddy?" repeated Harry, coloring a shade more and glancing over at Rosalie.

"Reddy," repeated s.h.a.garach, insistently.

"What is his business?"

"He is dead," said the lawyer, and the witness knew that evasion was futile.

"Oh, yes, I knew that Reddy--slightly."

"Do you remember forfeiting several thousand dollars to him one evening in a certain room?"

"Yes."

Harry was driven to the wall. He set his teeth, and now, finally at bay, his spirit seemed to return.

"Where did that money come from?"

"From my mother."

"And from whom did she get it?"

Harry hesitated.

"From one Simon Rabofsky, a money-lender, was it not?"

"Yes."

"She had sold her family jewels, had she not?"

"Yes."

"She kept you in funds?"

"Yes, but she knew nothing of my habits."

"Then you lied to her to obtain money?"

"Yes."

"And you lied to the court awhile ago when you said that you were rich?"

"No, sir; it was only a temporary embarra.s.sment."

"Have the jewels been redeemed?"

"I believe not."

"Do rich people generally p.a.w.n their family heirlooms and permit them to be sold?"

"Well, no."

"Then you were so circ.u.mstanced that your disinheritance under your uncle's will might seriously incommode you?"

"Well, his money might afford us relief."

CHAPTER LV.

WEATHERVANES VEER.

"Do you know Ellen Greeley?"

"I did know her slightly."

"Never corresponded with her?"

"Oh, no."

"You have a key to your own house, I suppose?"

"Certainly."

"And can slip out and in un.o.bserved?"

"If I choose to."

"Which door do you generally use going into your uncle's house?"

"The front door always."

"And in coming out?"

"The same."

"You knew, however, that there was a side door opening into the pa.s.sageway?"

"Yes."

"How long are you back from Lenox?"

"Two weeks."

"Do you remember an evening entertainment there at Mr. March's?"

"The purple tea? Yes, sir."

"Do you remember falling into a species of trance on that occasion?"

"Perfectly."

"Do you remember what was on your right hand when you awoke?"

The witness drew a deep breath before he answered. He no longer had the heart to look toward Rosalie, though her eyes were turned with stony fixity upon his face and she had even lifted her veil.

s.h.a.garach's manner was now as imperious, as fierce, as on that memorable evening.

"Yes," answered Harry; "it was a lemon-colored glove."

"Whose glove?"

"Mine."

"A lost glove?"

"Yes."

"A right-hand glove?"

"Yes."

"Where had you lost it?"

Harry hesitated.

"Will you look about the room and tell me if you see any person besides your mother whom you saw on that Sat.u.r.day afternoon of the fire?"

Walter Riley had recovered by this time from Kennedy's caning and occupied a front seat among the spectators. But it was Rosalie's eye that Harry met--met and hastily avoided. Had she seen him after all that afternoon when he crossed Bond street from the burning house? Would this remorseless inquisitor contradict his denial with the affirmation of the woman he loved?

"Wasn't it you instead of Floyd who paid a cash fare to Conductor Checkerberry on the 3:29 train and whose voice he recognized here yesterday?"

"Yes," said Harry, "it was."

"Then you had heard of the fire before Sunday morning?"

"I had."

"And you lied again when you testified to the contrary?"

"I am sick of lying. Let me tell you the truth."

"It is the truth I am searching for."

"You have tripped and tangled me," said Harry, speaking slowly, "so that my actions when I make a clean breast of them may look worse than they were. I wish I had told you the truth from the beginning. I was a fool to hide it at all.

"I did leave Woodlawn that Sat.u.r.day for my uncle's house on the 3 o'clock train and returned on the 3:29 from the city. I had been wrought up by Mr. Hodgkins' visit of the night before. He was going to open the safe at 2:30 the next day and the will would be read at last. If I were disinherited I should be absolutely penniless, dependent on my mother, and her property, I knew, was enc.u.mbered."

"Your mother, then, was your father's sole heir?" asked the district attorney.

"Yes, sir."

"Enc.u.mbered largely through your extravagance?" added s.h.a.garach.

"Through my extravagance. I was on pins and needles, too nervous to sleep, to eat--the servants can corroborate that--until this should be settled; too nervous even to await my mother's return."

"She had driven in to meet Mr. Hodgkins?"

"She had. It must have been nearly 3:25 when I arrived and the appointment of Hodgkins was at 2:30."

"You took the Southern line?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I heard the train coming. I acted on the impulse, flung out of the house and headed it off."

"Go on."

"I walked toward my uncle's up Broad street, entered the pa.s.sageway, mounted the steps and found the side door open."

"Open?"

"I mean unlocked, not ajar. There was no one stirring in the lower floor. I wondered whether Hodgkins had come and the safe was opened. Then I went upstairs to the study."