"You're not ready to go? Wish to search the house, perhaps."

"Naturally."

"It has already been done in a general way."

"I wish to do it thoroughly."

The coroner sighed.

"I should be wrong to stand in your way. Get your warrant and the house
is yours. But remember the sick girl."

"That's why I wish to do the job my self."

"You're a good fellow, Sweetwater." Then as he was passing out, "I'm
going to rely on you to see this thing through, quietly if you can,
openly and in the public eye if you must. The keys tell the tale--the
keys and the hat. If the former had been left in the club-house and the
latter found without the mark set on it by the mechanic's wife,
Ranelagh's chances would look as slim to-day as they did immediately
after the event. But with things as they are, he may well rest easily
to-night; the clouds are lifting for him."

Which shows how little we poor mortals realise what makes for the peace
even of those who are the nearest to us and whose lives and hearts we
think we can read like an open book.

The coroner gone, Sweetwater made his way to the room where he had last
seen Mr. Clifton. He found it empty and was soon told by Hexford that
the lawyer had left. This was welcome news to him; he felt that he had a
fair field before him now; and learning that it would be some fifteen
minutes yet before he could hope to see the carriages back, he followed
Hexford upstairs.

"I wish I had your advantages," he remarked as they reached the
upper floor.

"What would you do?"

"I'd wander down that hall and take a long look at things."

"You would?"

"I'd like to see the girl and I'd like to see the brother when he thought
no one was watching him."

"Why see the girl?"

"I don't know. I'm afraid that's just curiosity. I've heard she was a
wonder for beauty."

"She was, once."

"And not now?"

"You cannot tell; they have bound up her cheeks with cloths. She fell on
the grate and got burned."

"But I say that's dreadful, if she was so beautiful."

"Yes, it's bad, but there are worse things than that. I wonder what she
meant by that wild cry of 'Tear it open! See if her heart is there?' Tear
what open? the coffin?"

"Of course. What else could she have meant?"

"Well! delirium is a queer thing; makes a fellow feel creepy all over. I
don't reckon on my nights here."

"Hexford, help me to a peep. I've got a difficult job before me and I
need all the aid I can get."

"Oh, there