account
for that?"

Barbara's right hand stole to the arm of her chair and clasped it with
the same convulsive strength that she clung to the other chair arm. When
she spoke her voice was barely audible.

"I can account for it in two ways," she began. "If the dogs were
accidentally locked in the cellar they could not possibly hear Mr.
Turnbull moving about the house; if they were roaming about and scented
him, they might not have barked because they would recognize him as a
friend."

"Were the dogs familiar with his step and voice?"

"Yes. Only last Sunday he played with them for an hour, and later in the
afternoon took them for a walk in the country."

"I see." Penfield stroked his chin reflectively. "When your sister told
you of finding the burglar and his arrest, did you not, in the light of
your wager, suspect that he might be Mr. Turnbull?"

"No." Barbara's eyes did not falter before his direct gaze. "I supposed
that Mr. Turnbull meant to try and enter the house in his own proper
person; it never dawned on me that he would resort to disguise.
Besides," as the coroner started to make a remark, "we have had numerous
robberies in our neighborhood, and the apartment house two blocks from
us has had a regular epidemic of sneak thieves."

The coroner waited until Dr. Mayo, who had been writing with feverish
haste, had picked up a fresh sheet of paper before resuming his
examination.

"You accompanied your sister to the police court," he said. "Did you see
the burglar there?"

"Yes."

"Did you realize his identity in the court room?"

"No. I only awoke to--to the situation when I saw him lying dead with
his wig removed. The shock was frightful"--she closed her eyes for a
second, for the room and the rows of faces confronting her were mixed in
a maddening maze and she raised her hand to her swimming head. When she
looked up she found Coroner Penfield by her side.

"That is all," he said kindly. "Please remain in the witness room, I may
call you again," and he helped her down the step with careful attention.

Back in his corner Kent watched her departure. He was white to the lips.

"Heat too much for you?" asked a kindly-faced stranger, and Kent gave a
mumbled "No," as he strove to pull himself together.

What deviltry was afoot? How dared the twins take such risks--to bear
false witness was a grave criminal offense. He, alone, among all the
spectators, had realized that in testifying before the inquest,