"Tell us the circ.u.mstances attending the arrest of James Turnbull, alias John Smith, in your house on Tuesday morning, Miss McIntyre," directed the coroner, seating himself at his table, on which were writing materials.
"I was sitting up to let in my sister, who had gone to a dance," she began, "and fearing I would fall asleep I went down into the library, intending to sit in one of the window recesses and watch for her arrival. As I entered the library I saw a figure steal across the room and disappear inside a closet. I was very frightened, but had sense enough left to cross softly to the closet and lock the door." She paused in her rapid recital and drew a long breath, then continued more slowly:
"I hurried to the window and across the street I saw a policeman standing under a lamp-post. It took but a minute to call him. The policeman opened the closet door, put handcuffs on Mr. Turnbull and took him away."
Coroner Penfield, as well as the jurors, followed her statement with absorbed attention. At its end he threw down his pencil and spoke briefly to the deputy coroner, who had been busily engaged in taking notes of the inquest, and then he turned to Helen.
"You heard no sound before entering the library?"
"No one walking about the house?" he persisted.
"No." She followed the negative with a short explanation. "I lay down on my bed soon after dinner, not feeling very well, and slept through the early hours of the night."
"At what hour did you wake up?"
"About four o"clock, or a little after."
"Then you were awake an hour before you discovered the supposed burglar in your library?"
"Y-yes," Helen"s hesitation was faint. "About that length of time."
"And you heard no unusual sounds in that hour"s interval?"
"I heard nothing"--her manner was slightly defiant and Kent"s heart sank; if he had only thought to warn her not to antagonize the coroner.
"Where were you during that hour?"
"Lying down," promptly. "Then, afraid I would drop off to sleep again, I went downstairs."
Coroner Penfield consulted his notes before asking another question.
"Who lives in your house beside you and your twin sister?" he asked.
"My father, Colonel McIntyre; our house guest, Mrs. Louis C. Brewster, and five servants," she replied. "Grimes, the butler; Martha, our maid; Jane, the chambermaid; Hope, our cook; and Thomas, our second man; the chauffeur, Harris, the scullery maid, and the laundress do not stay at night."
"Who were at home beside yourself on Monday night and early Tuesday morning?"
"My father and Mrs. Brewster; I believe the servants were in also, except Thomas, who had asked permission to spend the night in Baltimore."
"Miss McIntyre?" Coroner Penfield put the next question in an impressive manner. "On discovering the burglar why did you not call your father?"
"My first impulse was to do so," she answered promptly. "But on leaving the library I pa.s.sed the window, saw the policeman, and called him in."
She shot a keen look at the coroner, and added softly, "The policeman was qualified to make an arrest; my father would have had to summon one had he been there."
"Quite true," acknowledged Penfield courteously. "Now, Miss McIntyre, why did the prisoner so obligingly walk straight into a closet on your arrival in the library?"
"I presume he was looking for a way out of the room and blundered into it," she explained. "There are seven doors opening from our library; the prisoner may have heard me approaching, become confused, and walked through the wrong door."
"That is quite plausible--with an ordinary bona-fide burglar," agreed Penfield. "But was not Mr. Turnbull acquainted with the architectural arrangements of your house?"
"He was a frequent caller and an intimate friend," she said, with dignity. "As to his power of observation and his b.u.mp of locality I cannot say. The library was but dimly lighted."
"Miss McIntyre," Penfield spoke slowly. "Were you aware of the real ident.i.ty of the burglar?"
"I had no suspicion that he was not what he appeared," she responded.
"He said or did nothing after his arrest to give me the slightest inkling of his ident.i.ty."
Penfield raised his eyebrows and shot a look at the deputy coroner before going on with his examination.
"You knew Mr. Turnbull intimately, and yet you did not recognize him?"
he asked.
"He wore an admirable disguise." Helen touched her lips with the tip of her tongue; inwardly she longed for the gla.s.s of ice water which she saw standing on the reporters" table. "Mr. Turnbull"s a.s.sociates will tell you that he excelled in amateur theatricals."
Penfield looked at her critically for a moment before continuing his questions. She bore his scrutiny with composure.
"Officer O"Ryan has testified that you informed him you examined the windows of your house," he said, after a brief wait. "Did you find any unlocked?"
"Yes; one was open in the little reception room off the front door."
"What floor is the room on?"
"The ground floor."
"Would it have been easy for any one to gain admittance through the window without attracting attention in the street?" was Penfield"s next question.
"Yes."
"Miss McIntyre," Penfield rose, "I have only a few more questions to put to you. Why did Mr. Turnbull come to your house--a house where he was a welcome visitor--in the middle of the night disguised as a burglar?"
The reporters as well as the spectators bent forward to catch her reply.
"Mr. Turnbull had a wager with my sister, Barbara," she explained.
"She bet him that he could not break into the house without being discovered."
Penfield considered her answer before addressing her again.
"Why didn"t Mr. Turnbull tell you who he was when you had him arrested?"
he asked.
Helen shrugged her shoulders. "I cannot answer that question, for I do not know his reason. If he had only confided in me"--her voice shook--"he might have been alive to-day."
"How so?" Penfield shot the question at her.
"Because then he would have been spared the additional excitement of his trip to the police station and the scene in court, which brought on his attack of angina pectoris."
Penfield regarded her for a moment in silence.