nter pippin. "Was your uncle engaged to be married at the time of
his death?" he piped.

There was a mild sensation in the room. Curious eyes swept toward the
graceful, slender form of a veiled woman sitting at the extreme left of
the room.

Cunningham flushed. The question seemed to him a gratuitous probe into
the private affairs of the family. "I do not care to discuss that," he
answered quietly.

"The witness may refuse to answer questions if he wishes," the coroner
ruled.

Jack Cunningham was called to the stand. James had made an excellent
witness. He was quiet, dignified, and yet forceful. Jack, on the
other hand, was nervous and irritable. The first new point he
developed was that on his last visit to the rooms of his uncle he had
seen him throw downstairs a fat man with whom he had been scuffling.
Shown Hull, he identified him as the man.

"Had you ever had any trouble with your uncle?" Johns asked him.

"You may decline to answer if you wish," the coroner told the witness.

Young Cunningham hesitated. "No-o. What do you mean by trouble?"

"Had he ever threatened to cut you out of his will?"

"Yes," came the answer, a bit sulkily.

"Why--if you care to tell?"

"He thought I was extravagant and wild--wanted me to buckle down to
business more."

"What is your business?"

"I'm with a bond house--McCabe, Foster & Clinton."

"During the past few months have you had any difference of opinion with
your uncle?"

"That's my business," flared the witness. Then, just as swiftly as his
irritation had come it vanished. He remembered that his uncle's
passionate voice had risen high. No doubt people in the next
apartments had heard him. It would be better to make a frank
admission. "But I don't mind answering. I have."

"When?"

"The last time I went to his rooms--two days before his death."

Significant looks passed from one to another of the spectators.

"What was the subject of the quarrel?"

"I didn't say we had quarreled," was the sullen answer.

"Differed, then. My question was, what about?"

"I decline to say."

"I think that is all, Mr. Cunningham."

The wrinkled little juryman leaned forward and piped his question
again. "Was your uncle engaged to be married at the time of his death?"

The startled eyes of Jack Cunningham leaped to the little man. There
was in them dismay, almost panic. Then, swiftly, he recovered and
drawled insolently, "I try to mind my own busine