"Mr. Hall," said, the coroner, turning toward the young man, "how
could you send flowers to Miss Lloyd last evening if you were in
New York City?"

"Easily," was the cool reply. "I left Sedgwick on the six
o'clock train. On my way to the station I stopped at a florist's
and ordered some roses sent to Miss Lloyd. If they did not
arrive until she was at dinner, they were not sent immediately,
as the florist promised."

"When did you receive them, Miss Lloyd?"

"They were in my room when I event up there at about ten o'clock
last evening," she replied, and her face showed her wonderment at
these explicit questions.

The coroner's face showed almost as much wonderment, and I said:
"Perhaps, Mr. Monroe, I may ask a few questions right here."

"Certainly," he replied.

And thus it was, for the first time in my life, I directly
addressed Florence Lloyd.

"When you went up to your room at ten o'clock, the flowers were
there?" I asked, and I felt a most uncomfortable pounding at my
heart because of the trap I was deliberately laying for her. But
it had to be done, and even as I spoke, I experienced a glad
realization, that if she were innocent, my questions could do her
no harm.