Taking a box from his desk, he opened it and held it out toward me.
A coil of white ribbon surmounted by a crisp and dainty bow met my
eyes.

"You recognize it?" he asked.

Indeed I did.

"It was cut from her wrist by my deputy. Miss Tuttle wished him to
untie it, but he preferred to leave the bow intact. Now lift it out.
Careful, man, don't soil it; you will see why in a minute."

As I held the ribbon up, he pointed to some spots on its fresh white
surface. "Do you see those?" he asked. "Those are dust-marks, and
they were made as truly by some one's fingers, as the impressions
you noted on the mantel-shelf in the upper chamber. This pistol was
tied to her wrist after the deed; possibly by that same hand."

It was my own conclusion but it did not sound as welcome to me from
his lips as I had expected. Either my nature is narrow, or my
inordinate jealousy lays me open to the most astonishing
inconsistencies; for no sooner had he spoken these words than I
experienced a sudden revulsion against my own theory and the
suspicions which it threw upon the man whom an hour before I was
eager to proclaim a criminal.

But Coroner Z. gave me no chance for making such a fool of myself.
Rescuing the ribbon from my hands, which no doubt were running a
little too freely over its snowy surface, he smiled with the
indulgence proper from such a man to a novice like myself, and