d tasks, or in walking about the grounds with her
father. Yes, sometimes the yogi would join them, and there would be
long discussions. After dinner, in the library, there would also be
long discussions, but the girl had no idea what they were about. She
heard a fragment of them occasionally, but had never been able to make
anything of them. In fact, from the way they dressed and all, she had
come to the conclusion that Mr. Vaughan and the yogi were both a
little crazy, but quite inoffensive and harmless.

"And how about Miss Vaughan?" asked the coroner.

"Miss Vaughan, bless her heart, wasn't crazy," said the girl quickly;
"not a bit of it. She was just sad and lonely,--as who wouldn't be!
She never went out--in the five months I've been here, she's never
been off the place; and them front gates was never opened to let
anybody in. The only people who come in were the grocer and milk-man
and such-like, through the little door at the side."

"You say you have been here five months?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did you come to apply for the place?"

"I didn't apply for it. I was sent here by an employment bureau. Miss
Marjorie engaged me. I didn't see the Hindus till afterwards, or I
don't think I'd have took it. After that, I stayed for Miss Marjorie's
sake."

"You thought she needed you?"

"Yes, I did. With her father moonin' round in a kind of trance, and
the yogi lookin' at her with eyes like live coals, and a snake that
stood on its tail, and the other naygur going around with nothin' on
but a diaper, I thought she needed somebody to look after her; and
says I, 'Annie Crogan, you're the girl to do it!'"

There was a ripple of laughter and the pencils of the reporters flew
across their paper. It was the first gleam to enliven a prosaic and
tiresome hearing.

"Were the Hindus obtrusive in any way?" asked the coroner.

"Oh, no; they minded their business; I've no complaint on that
score."

"Did you see any of their religious practices?"

"I wouldn't call them religious--quite the contrary. I've seen them
wavin' their arms and bowin' to the sun and settin' in the dark
starin' at a glass globe with a light in it; that's about all. I got
used to it, after a while, and just went on about my work without
takin' any notice."

There was little more to be got from her, and finally she was excused.
The reporters yawned. The jury twitched nervously. Worthington Vaughan
was dead; he had been strangled--so much was clear;