ath
to "tell the truth and nothing but the truth," and seated herself, with
much rustling of silk skirts in the witness chair.

"State your full name, madam," directed Coroner Penfield, eyeing her
dainty beauty with admiration.

"Margaret Perry Brewster," she answered. "Widow of Louis C. Brewster.
Both I and my late husband were born and lived in Los Angeles,
California."

"Are you visiting the Misses McIntyre?"

"Yes." Mrs. Brewster spoke in a chatty impersonal manner. "I have been
with them since the first of the month."

"Did you attend the Grosvenor dance?" asked the coroner.

"No; the affair was only given for the debutantes of last fall and did
not include married people," she explained. "It was a warm night and
Colonel McIntyre asked Mr. Benjamin Clymer, who was dining with him, and
me, to go for a motor ride, leaving Barbara at the Grosvenors' en route.
We did so, returning to the house about eleven o'clock, and sat talking
until about midnight in the reception room, then Colonel McIntyre drove
Mr. Clymer home, and I went to my room."

"Were you awakened by any noises during the night?" inquired Penfield.

"No; I heard no noises." Mrs. Brewster's charming smile was infectious.

"When did you first learn of the supposed burglary and the death of
James Turnbull?"

"The McIntyre twins told me about the tragedy on their return from the
police court," answered Mrs. Brewster, and settled herself a little more
comfortably in the witness chair.

"When you were in the reception room, Mrs. Brewster"--Penfield paused
and studied his notes a second--"did you observe if the window was open
or closed?"

"It was not open when we entered," she responded. "But the air in the
room was stuffy and at my request Mr. Clymer raised the window."

"Did he close it later?"

She considered the question. "I really do not recall," she admitted
finally. Her eyes strayed toward the door through which she had entered,
and Penfield answered her unspoken thought.

"Just one more question," he said hurriedly. "Did you see the dogs on
Monday night?"

"Yes. I heard them scratching at the door leading to the basement as I
went upstairs, and so I turned around and went down and opened the door
and let them run down into the cellar."

Penfield snapped shut his notebook. "I am greatly obliged, Mrs.
Brewster; we will not detain you longer."

The morgue master stepped forward and helped the pretty widow down from
the platform.