for the last eight months to assist him in preparing, by writing at his dictation three hours out of the twenty-four, the last hour being commonly taken from the evening, say from half-past nine to half-past ten, Mr. Leavenworth being a very methodical man and accustomed to regulate his own life and that of those about him with almost mathematical precision."
"You say you were accustomed to write at his dictation evenings? Did you do this as usual last evening?"
"I did, sir."
"What can you tell us of his manner and appearance at the time? Were they in any way unusual?"
A frown crossed the secretary’s brow.
"As he probably had no premonition of his doom, why should there have been any change in his manner?"
This giving the coroner an opportunity to revenge himself for his discomfiture of a moment before, he said somewhat severely:
"It is the business of a witness to answer questions, not to put them."
The secretary flushed and the account stood even.
"Very well, then, sir; if Mr. Leavenworth felt any forebodings of his end, he did not reveal them to me. On the contrary, he seemed to be more absorbed in his work than usual. One of the last words he said to me was, ‘In a month we will have this book in press, eh, Trueman?’ I remember this particularly, as he was filling his wine-glass at the time. He always drank one glass of wine before retiring, it being my duty to bring the decanter of sherry from the closet the last thing before leaving him. I was standing with my hand on the knob of the hall-door, but advanced as he
