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“Why, certainly,” exclaimed Winthrop, with well simulated heartiness; “won’t you both sit down?” and he dropped into the revolving desk chair. Douglas picked out his old seat in the window and turned his back to the light the better to face Winthrop and Brett, who also sat near the desk.

“When will they hold the inquest, Mr. Brett?” questioned Winthrop.

“The coroner, Dr. Penfield, told me to-morrow.”

“Has Hamilton a lawyer to look out for his interests?”

“That’s not absolutely necessary at the inquest, Mr. Winthrop. At present the negro is simply held on suspicion. If the inquest so decides, he will be charged with the murder and held for the grand jury.”

Douglas had been busy scanning Winthrop’s face intently. He noted the heavy lines in the handsome face, and the unnatural brilliancy of his eyes. It was apparent to both men, by Winthrop’s thick speech and unsteady hands, which kept fingering the desk ornaments nervously, that he had been drinking heavily.

“Where did you last see Senator Carew?”