and Hammersmith, who had made
no effort to hide his anxiety to believe her story, showed his
disappointment with equal frankness as he asked:

"Who else was in the office? Surely Mr. Quimby was not there alone?"

She reseated herself before answering. Hammersmith could see the effort
she made to recall that simple scene. He found himself trying to recall
it, too--the old-fashioned, smoke-begrimed office, with its one long
window toward the road and the glass-paned door leading into the hall of
entrance. They had come in by that door and crossed to the bar, which
was also the desk in this curious old hostelry. He could see them
standing there in the light of possibly a solitary lamp, the rest of the
room in shadow unless a game of checkers were on, which evidently was
not so on this night. Had she turned her head to peer into those
shadows? It was not likely. She was supported by her mother's presence,
and this she was going to say. By some strange telepathy that he would
have laughed at a few hours before, he feels confident of her words
before she speaks. Yet he listens intently as she finally looks up and
answers:

"There was a man, I am sure there was a man somewhere at the other end
of the office. But I paid no attention to him. I was bargaining for two
rooms and registering my name and that of my mother."

"Two rooms; why two? You are not a fashionable young lady to require a
room alone."

"Gentlemen, I was tired. I had been through a wearing half-hour. I knew
that if we occupied the same room or even adjoining ones that nothing
could keep us from a night of useless and depressing conversation. I did
not feel equal to it, so I asked for two rooms a short distance apart."

An explanation which could at least be accepted. Mr. Hammersmith felt an
increase of courage and scarcely winced as his colder-blooded companion
continued this unofficial examination by asking:

"Where were you standing when making these arrangements with Mr.
Quimby?"

"Right before the desk."

"And your mother?"

"She was at my left and a little behind me. She was a shy woman. I
usually took the lead when we were together."

"Was she veiled?" the coroner continued quietly.

"I think so. She had been crying----" The bereaved daughter paused.

"But don't you know?"

"My impression is that her veil was down when we came into the room. She
may have lifted it as she stood there. I know that it was lifted as we
went upstairs. I rememb