Part 7 (1/2)

”Do you wish to summon any witnesses, Mr. Royce?” asked the coroner again. ”I shall be glad to adjourn the hearing until to-morrow if you do.”

Mr. Royce roused himself with an effort.

”Thank you, sir,” he said. ”I may ask you to do that later on. Just at present, I wish to recall Mr. Rogers.”

”Very well,” said the coroner, and Rogers was summoned from the witness room.

I looked at him attentively, trying to fathom his thoughts, to read behind his eyes; but look as I might, I could see nothing in his face save concern and grief. He had grown gray in Holladay's office; he had proved himself, a hundred times, a man to be relied on; he had every reason to feel affection and grat.i.tude toward his employer, and I was certain that he felt both; he received a liberal salary, I knew, and was comfortably well-to-do.

That he himself could have committed the crime or been concerned in it in any way was absolutely unthinkable. Yet why should he lie? Above all, why should he seek to implicate his employer's daughter? Even if he wished to implicate her, how could he have known the color of her gown? What dark, intricate problem was this that confronted us?

In the moment that followed, I saw that Mr. Royce was studying him, too, was straining to find a ray of light for guidance. If we failed now----

I read the note through again--”a gown of dark green”--and suddenly, by a kind of clairvoyance, the solution of the mystery leaped forth from it. I leaned over to my chief, trembling with eagerness.

”Mr. Royce,” I whispered hoa.r.s.ely, ”I believe I've solved the puzzle.

Hold Rogers on the stand a few moments until I get back.”

He looked up at me astonished; then nodded, as I seized my hat, and pushed my way through the crowd. Once outside the building, I ran to the nearest dry-goods house--three blocks away it was, and what fearfully long blocks they seemed!--then back again to the courtroom.

Rogers was still on the stand, but a glance at Mr. Royce told me that he had elicited nothing new.

”You take him, Lester,” he said, as I sat down beside him. ”I'm worn out.”

Quivering with apprehension, I arose. It was the first time I had been given the center of the stage in so important a case. Here was my opportunity! Suppose my theory should break down, after all!

”Mr. Rogers,” I began, ”you've been having some trouble with your eyes, haven't you?”

He looked at me in surprise.

”Why, yes, a little,” he said. ”Nothing to amount to anything. How did you know?”

My confidence had come back again. I was on the right track, then!

”I did not know,” I said, smiling for the first time since I had entered the room. ”But I suspected. I have here a number of pieces of cloth of different colors. I should like you to pick out the one that most nearly approximates the color of the gown your visitor wore yesterday afternoon.”

I handed him the bundle of samples, and as I did so, I saw the district attorney lean forward over his desk with attentive face. The witness looked through the samples slowly, while I watched him with feverish eagerness. Mr. Royce had caught an inkling of my meaning and was watching him, too.

”There's nothing here,” said Rogers, at last, ”which seems quite the shade. But this is very near it.”

He held up one of the pieces. With leaping heart, I heard the gasp of astonishment which ran around the room. The jurymen were leaning forward in their chairs.

”And what is the color of that piece?” I asked.

”Why, dark red. I've stated that already.”

I glanced triumphantly at the coroner.

”Your honor,” I said, as calmly as I could, ”I think we've found the flaw in the chain. Mr. Rogers is evidently color-blind. As you see, the piece he has selected is a dark green.”

The whole audience seemed to draw a deep breath, and a little clatter of applause ran around the room. I could hear the scratch, scratch of the reporters' pencils--here was a situation after their hearts'