d to the heavy bronze chandelier which
hung from the ceiling close to the side of the bed.

CHAPTER XIV

THE SECRET OF THE GREEN ROOM

I do not know just what my auditors expected in the way of an
explanation of the mystery when they followed me to the green
room--possibly some well-constructed or finely drawn theory. When I
pointed to the chandelier, they all looked a bit nonplused, and nobody
said anything for several moments. Then McQuade remarked, in his quiet
voice, with a shade of comprehension in his tone and expression: "How do
you make that out, Sir?"

The chandelier to which I had pointed was an old-fashioned one, of the
kind in general use in the early fifties. It was, I fancied, originally
made for a room with a somewhat higher ceiling. The ceilings in the
wings of The Oaks were unusually low, and the extreme lower end of the
chandelier extended to a point not much over six feet from the floor. I
judged this, because I am myself five feet eleven, and I could just pass
beneath it without striking it. It hung in the center of the room, and
about three feet from the side of the bed, which, on account of its
great size, extended far out from the wall against which it was placed.
The chandelier was of dark bronze or bronzed iron, and consisted of a
heavy central stem, from the lower end of which extended four
elaborately carved branches, supported by heavy and useless chains
reaching to a large ball about midway up the stem. Below the point from
which these four arms sprung was a sort of circular bronze shield, or
target, and from the lower face of this, in the center, projected an
octagonal ornamental spike, about two and a half inches long,
terminating in a sharp point. The whole thing was ugly and heavy, and
seemed in design more suitable to a hall or library than a bedroom.
Almost directly beneath it, but somewhat nearer to the side of the bed,
stood the low bench or stool, not over five inches high, the use of
which I have already mentioned. I explained the tragedy to the detective
and the others as I knew it must have happened.

"Last night," I said, "I was unable to open either the window in the
south or that in the west wall, because of the driving rain. The same
conditions, as you will remember, existed upon the fatal night which Mr.
Ashton spent here. For some reason, which I hope to explain presently,
we were both nearly suffocated while asleep, and rose suddenly in bed,
with but one thou