Her hat, which was as plain and also as elegant as the rest of her
clothing, lay near her on the floor. It had been taken off and
thrown down, manifestly by an impatient hand. That this hand was
her own was evident from a small but very significant fact. The
pin which had held it to her hair had been thrust again into the hat.
No hand but hers would have taken this precaution. A man would have
flung it aside just as he would have flung the hat.
Question:
Did this argue a natural expectation on her part of resuming her
hat? Or was the action the result of an unconscious habit?
Having thus noted all that was possible concerning her without
infringing on the rights of the coroner, I next proceeded to cast
about for clues to the identity of the person whom I considered
responsible for the extinguished candle. But here a great
disappointment awaited me. I could find nothing expressive of a
second person's presence save a pile of cigar ashes scattered
near the legs of a common kitchen chair which stood face to face
with the book shelves in that part of the room where the
candelabrum rested on a small table. But these ashes looked old,
nor could I detect any evidence of tobacco smoke in the general
mustiness pervading the place. Was the man who died here a
fortnight since accountable for these ashes? If so, his unfinished
cigar must be within sight.
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