and the single word conveyed to his hearers the
darting agony which rent him. For a long moment the newcomer stood,
bowed with unutterable grief, holding the hand of the dead man, as if he
would joyfully impart to those lifeless fingers, the largest measure of
his own vitality. Reluctantly he relinquished the limp hand, and the
effort cost him a pang.

As he turned from the rigid features staring vacantly up at him, he was
sobbing inwardly. His handsome face was contorted as if in physical
pain, his head drooped as if his shoulders had suddenly grown too weak
to bear its weight.

"Who are you, sir?" the coroner's voice broke the stillness.

The wave of sorrow which swept over the man seemed to deprive him of the
faculty of speech. He looked about him in a bewildered way, as if unable
to comprehend the presence of the others.

[Illustration: He looked about him in a bewildered way]

"You knew Mr. Whitmore?" the coroner inquired mildly.

"Yes, I was his confidential secretary," the answer came in weak tones.

The coroner and the two detectives exchanged significant glances.

"Then you are Mr. Beard?" the former inquired.

"Yes."

"Can you throw any light on the murder--have you any idea as to who
could have done it?"

As the weighty import of the query slowly dawned on Beard's
consciousness, his face contracted until it took on the expression of
one whose mental vision is gradually clearing; before whose dazed mind
certain images are again taking compact shape, revealing themselves out
of the surrounding darkness, sharply cut like figures illumined by the
long-stretching rays of a powerful searchlight.

Britz noted the changing expression of the man's face with lynxlike
eagerness. There was something touching, pathetic, in the utter
desolation which the secretary felt at his employer's death. Then,
suddenly, a burning anger seemed to succeed all other emotions, and, in
an outburst of tempestuous fury, he exclaimed:

"Collins--George Collins--damn him--damn that scoundrel! He did
it--there was no one else! Officers, arrest Collins--you know who he is.
He threatened to kill Mr. Whitmore, came down here every day for a month
to do it. I'll send that cur to the electric chair--why should I shield
him?"

"Precisely," agreed the coroner. "Now, calm yourself and tell us all
about Collins."

Beard had been carried away by the storm of resentment that had swept
his mind. He had uttered a direct accusation, somet