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Graham C. Goodwin
Stefan F. Graebe
A Doctorate
and Beyond
Building a Career in
Engineering and
the Physical Sciences
Illustrations by Adam Sandford
A Doctorate and Beyond
Graham C. Goodwin Stefan F. Graebe
•
123
Graham C. Goodwin Stefan F. Graebe
Centre for Complex Dynamic Systems MyWings Coaching Hout Bay
and Control Cape Town
University of Newcastle South Africa
Callaghan, NSW
Australia
v
vi Preface
Fig. 1 “Research can be an ultimate expression of ‘self’, similar to painting or performing and
composing music”—see Sect. 1.2.3
Will aid your decision whether or not to enrol for a doctorate. It will also help
you consider options that will broaden your spectrum of choice.
Questions that seek to help and guide you while writing a doctoral thesis are
addressed in Part II. They include:
• What outcomes will be expected?
• How to establish good student–supervisor interactions?
• What are the benefits of networking?
• What tools are needed to undertake doctoral studies?
• What ethical issues arise?
• How do you write a doctoral thesis?
This group of readers is addressed in Part III of the book. Here we inspire by
reflecting on questions such as:
• What career opportunities exist in the academic and private sectors?
• How does one move between sectors?
• What is the difference between administration, management, leadership and
entrepreneurship?
• How does one mentor young colleagues?
• How does one obtain funding?
• How does one kick start a cycle of success?
Part IV: Once You Have Been Working for Some Time
and are About to Move into a More Senior Role
Part IV of the book is concerned with more senior career phases. Most of this
material applies more broadly than is suggested by the title of the book and is
relevant whether or not you hold a doctorate.
• How to continue growing your cycle of success?
• How to deliver a great public speech?
• How to prepare for, and recover from, injustice?
• How to deal with the media?
viii Preface
Whilst each part of the book addresses a different phase of your career, we strongly
advocate that you visit different parts of the book on multiple occasions. Reading
later parts will inform you of broader issues and provide stretch information.1
Reading earlier parts will remind you how to advise younger people who are
passing through that stage.
Each chapter contains an overview and a comprehensive summary that are
meant to aid previewing “stretch information” or as a quick review of earlier career
phases when you are mentoring junior colleagues.
A Changing World
We live in a rapidly changing world. One thing is for certain: there will be sig-
nificant changes during the time span of your career. Therefore this guide focuses
on principles that will remain relevant during the next decades of your life. As we
discuss the principles, we also add specifics and examples to make our points more
tangible. However, as you consult the book, try to focus on the more timeless
principles and adapt the specifics to emerging technologies and contemporary best
practice during your career.
We quickly illustrate with three examples.
1. Networking and reputation: The means and technologies you use to network
will keep changing; but the importance of networking will always remain high.
Similarly, aspects that build a good reputation may change—but having a good
reputation will always remain crucial. Reputations are hard to build and easy to
destroy.
2. Technologies and required skills: Of course these will change and evolve.
However, their central importance will remain. The book is not intended to teach
the current state of the art of technology. Indeed, if it did so, it would quickly
become obsolete. Rather we point to the role technology takes as you manage
your studies and career.
1
“Stretch information,” i.e. information that stretches beyond the reader’s present situation.
Preface ix
3. Leadership paradigms: These will also shift over time. Thus we will concern
ourselves less with covering details than we will with conveying how being
conscious and mindful of your leadership style is a core success factor.
While the specifics of these three principles will clearly change over time, their
importance will remain. It is always true that poor leadership, mediocre skills or a
destroyed reputation will work against you. Yet, if you look around you, or read the
news, you will see that these errors occur all the time. On the other hand, you will
observe that successful people continuously hone their leadership style, keep their
skills up to date and fervently protect their reputation.
We believe that becoming conscious and mindful of these principles is of
paramount importance, and we believe that this book will help you achieve these
goals.
Sources
In writing the book we have mainly drawn upon our personal experiences. These
experiences were shaped, shared and created by a large number of colleagues,
students, mentors and professionals drawn from a broad spectrum of society
including academia and the private sector.
We quote many of these experiences directly. Others are reflected indirectly by
virtue of the fact that they have left a mark on us and influenced our views.
Since it is personal interactions that we have benefitted most from, we have
chosen an equally personal and anecdotal tone for the book rather than aiming for a
research-orientted style.
Consequently, we have abstained from scientific style referencing. We do offer
selected sources that you may care to consult for further reading. However, neither
the style nor scope are as comprehensive as they would be in a research treatise. We
address topics as wide-ranging as leadership, job interviewing techniques, ethics,
work–life balance, writing grant applications and delivering conference presenta-
tions. Volumes have been written about each of these topics in their own right.
All of the above topics will play crucial roles during the various phases of your
career. The objective of the book is to bring all of the core ideas together in one
place and to put them into perspective. To learn more about the specifics and
current “state-of-the-art” thinking in any of the component topics, we refer you to
contemporary sources.
x Preface
Book Website
All that we have mentioned so far refers to your active role in pursuing your degree
and your subsequent career. However, in life, there are always forces beyond our
control, some work for us, some against us. For the sake of simplicity we refer to
the former simply as “luck”, the latter as “hardship”. In reality, the complexities of
life are rarely that cleanly cut. However, the book will support you during either
of these times.
If you talk to successful people in any field you will find that some have, more or
less, stumbled into their careers, taking opportunities that opened up along the way
and discovering skills and talents as they went along. Others chose careers as they
followed someone else. Others have started out wanting to prove that “they can do it”.
To what extent you “plan” and to what extent you “leave things to chance” is a
matter of personal preference and can change depending upon the circumstances.
We aim to support you both during times when you choose to plan and times when
things evolve by chance. Experience suggests that you will always encounter
coincidences and unforeseen opportunities along the way.
Times of planning, times of luck, times of hardship: we hope to provide you with
a resource of inspiration.
The seeds of this book were sown when Graham visited Universidad Técnica
Federico Santa María in Valparaíso, Chile approximately 20 years ago. Graham’s
host during that visit was Mario Salgado. He asked Graham to give a different kind
of seminar with the intriguing title “The responsibilities of Ph.D. students and their
supervisors;” a tough call. Over the years, this seminar evolved and Graham pre-
sented it to many different groups. However, a book was far from Graham’s mind.
Then in 2010, a dear friend of Graham’s who worked in industry, John Edwards,
said he would like to meet Graham to discuss career and life issues, contrasting and
comparing industry and academia. At the time, John was very ill and so, in the spirit
of the well-known book by Mitch Alborn, “Tuesdays with Morrie”, it became
“Fridays with John”. A book project was discussed. Indeed a rough draft was
written but it was never finished. By now, sufficient momentum had been achieved
that a book became a real possibility. Finally, Graham approached Stefan. Graham
had worked with Stefan previously and knew he had considerable experience using
a doctorate in industry. This nicely complemented Graham’s own, more academ-
ically orientated, background. So the book became a reality.
During initial stages, the authors discussed the book with many colleagues and
friends. Almost all said one of two things, namely, “I definitely want to read this
book” or “I wish I had access to this book 10 years ago”.
In writing the book, the authors received advice and help from many former
students, colleagues and friends. Some of these are mentioned below. However, in
truth, the book brings together ideas and experiences gathered over a lifetime from
all of the author’s colleagues.
The following people made specific contributions to the book by reading early
drafts and often by writing a paragraph or two on an issue that affected them
directly.
• Brian Anderson (Australian National University, Australia)
• Diego Carrasco (Research Academic, Australia)
• Roger Davies (Senior Industrial Manager, UK and Australia)
• Ramon Delgado (Research Academic, Australia)
xi
xii Acknowledgments
xiii
xiv Contents
Summary of Part I
Summary of Part II
Summary of Part IV
About the Authors
xxi
Part I
Choosing Whether or Not
to Do a Doctorate
Overview of Part I
In this part we discuss whether doing a doctorate is the right course of action for
you. The first chapter guides you towards an initial answer by suggesting situations
in which doing a doctorate would be an ideal choice for you.
The second chapter describes career options for doctoral graduates. You can assess
whether any of these capture your fancy.
Subsequent chapters discuss issues such as how to find a supervisor, how to choose
an institution and how to select a topic. We also discuss how hard you will have to
work and how long it may take you, as well as the desirability of completing a
doctorate part time.
This knowledge will then form a solid foundation upon which you can make your
final decision as to whether or not pursuing a doctorate is the right course of action
for you.
Chapter 1
Is a Doctorate the Right Course for You?
1.1 Overview
Doing a doctorate can be one to the most exciting things you will do in your life. This
is a chance to do something that is, at the same time, intellectually challenging and
massively rewarding. Having a doctorate has the power to create unparalleled life and
work opportunities. As one of Australia’s most senior academics (Professor Brian
Anderson FRS from the Australian National University) recently said to Graham
Moreover, doing a doctorate can dramatically change your self image. For exam-
ple, Raheleh Nazari, who recently completed her doctorate in engineering, said “The
doctoral program was a total life changing experience. It changed my complete
personality. I became wiser, more patient and more able to focus on the important
things in life. I now have a completely different image of myself and my capacity to
contribute”.
If you seek further affirmation of the capacity of research to be a positive force in
your life, then you may care to quickly read Sect. 22.4 of the book.
Of course, doing a doctorate is an important decision. Thus it helps to have full
knowledge of the steps needed to get a doctorate and the doors that will open if you
have a doctorate.
In this context, this chapter is intended to give you guidance during your decision-
making process. By the end of this chapter you should have arrived at a tentative
indication of whether a doctorate is the best course of action for you or whether you
might be better served by creating a career without a doctorate. Either of these can be
a great choice depending upon your individual circumstances. Subsequent chapters
will substantiate your initial decision by providing information about the process of
doing a doctorate and career opportunities.
There are four principal reasons that, should any of them apply to you, would suggest
that a doctorate is the right course of action for you. These reasons are discussed
below.
There are many jobs for which a doctorate is a necessary qualification. Examples
in the private sector include employment in the research and development wing of
a large corporation or becoming a high-level advisor. Examples in the government
sector include tertiary education positions or government research organizations. If
your interests lie in these areas, then you would pursue a doctorate as a necessary job
requirement. To confirm your decision, it is a good idea to check job announcements
in your area of interest or talk to friends who already have the kind of position in
which you are interested.
The following comment was made by Dr. Torbjörn Wigren (Torbjörn is a senior
engineer at Ericsson AB in Sweden. He also holds an Adjunct Professorship at
Uppsala University).
“My career goal was to obtain a challenging engineering position that focused
on design and innovation rather than on simple implementation of the ideas of
others. To achieve this in Sweden I knew that I needed to have a doctorate so
I went about obtaining one”.
You will know that you fall into this category if a particular area of science or
technology captures your imagination and interest.
Examples could arise across a broad spectrum including topics such as transporta-
tion, telecommunications, computing, medical instrumentation, geoscience; indeed
any area of science or technology.
You will know if you belong to this category if, by your inner nature, you always
seek to understand science at a deep level. As one of our doctoral students recently
said, “I was totally fascinated by the topic and was driven to delve more deeply into
it”. People in this category typically enjoy the sheer elegance of results, love reading
popular books on science and enjoy the beauty of mathematical proofs.
For people in this category,
If this applies to you, then we recommend that you have the courage to pursue
your dream without necessarily worrying about the immediate applicability of the
work.
Many people enjoy studying and are highly successful at doing it. They may thus
feel that the progression on to a doctorate is a natural course for them. This can also
be aided and supported by family encouragement.
As an example, we quote the experience of Dr. Roger Davies. Roger obtained a
doctorate in Chemical Engineering from the University of Swansea, in the UK. His
first job was in the research section of a Chemical company. From there he moved
into senior management roles in Chemical Manufacturing. Roger said “My father
had a tough upbringing and had a steely determination that all his children would
receive the educational opportunities that he had not received. I was so influenced
by my father’s zeal that I wanted to ‘achieve as much as I could academically’. This
translated, in my mind, to achieving a doctoral degree. So I did - and he was so
proud”.
6 1 Is a Doctorate the Right Course for You?
Roger added, “It is likely that many people will pursue a doctorate to prove to
themselves, or others, that they can do it. For such people it is also worth focusing
on future career options as soon as possible since this may steer the direction of the
doctoral studies”.
For completeness, we also mention that many universities offer, or insist upon, a
master’s degree (M.A. or M.Sc.) as an intermediary degree between a bachelors and
a doctorate degree. This can be a useful mechanism to see if you should continue
with a doctorate.
The second author of this book, Stefan, took this option and completed a M.Sc.
at the University of California, San Diego, before earning his doctorate at the Royal
Institute of Technology in Stockholm, Sweden. At the time of completing his bach-
elor’s degree, he was not yet one hundred percent sure if he wanted to specialize in
control engineering. He therefore opted for an interdisciplinary project which would
earn him a master’s degree. It was this work1 that firmly ignited his fascination with
control engineering and ultimately led to him enrolling in a doctorate programme.
Here are some considerations that may encourage you to first opt for a master’s
degree before considering a doctorate:
• You know that you want to pursue further academic work after completing a
bachelor’s degree, but you are not (yet) sure if you want to go the whole way and
pursue a doctorate.
• You want to gain further exposure to a specialty topic in order to then decide
whether it ignites your passion sufficiently to go the next step to doctoral studies.
• It may be unclear whether a particular project has sufficient potential for a doctorate
degree. In that case, you might “test” the topic in the master’s environment. You
might then consult your supervisor as to whether the topic could be extended to
doctorate level.
• You are doing an industry-funded degree whilst working for a company (see also
Sect. 5.5) and your company is only prepared to fund a master’s degree. You can
then try to convince them later to extend the funding for you to complete a doctorate
by delivering outstanding master’s work.
• Finally, there can be a strong practical reason; some doctorate programmes only
accept students who already hold a master’s degree.
The potential disadvantages include
• It might take you longer to get a doctorate if you pursue a master’s degree along
the way. This, however, also depends on how well your master’s work is aligned
with your subsequent doctoral work.
• It may be more difficult to obtain a scholarship for a master’s than a doctoral
degree.
1.4 Summary
The key thing to decide based on this chapter is whether you fall into one of the
following four categories:
• You are planning a career that requires a doctorate qualification (see Sect. 1.2.1).
• You are fascinated by one or more fields in engineering or science (see Sect. 1.2.2).
• You are interested in science, technology or mathematics for the sake of it (see
Sect. 1.2.3).
• You want to prove to yourself that you can achieve the highest possible academic
qualification (see Sect. 1.2.4).
These are all driving forces that are typical motivations for students to pursue a
doctoral degree.
You will be able to clarify your initial decision by reading the subsequent chapters
which deal with doing and using a doctorate. Also, we encourage you to read other
books that provide information about doing and using a doctorate. In particular, we
recommend the books by Hayton, Gosling/Noordam and Phillips/Pugh (see Refs. [5,
6, 7], Further Reading).
We also provide a tool to help you in your decision-making process. This tool is
available on the book’s website (www.ADoctorateAndBeyond.com).
[1] A. Flexner “The usefulness of useless knowledge” Harpers, Issue 179, June/
November 1939.
[2] D.K. Sokol “Is a PhD the right action for you?” Guardian Professional.
[3] The Thesis Whisperer “What to say, when someone asks you: Should I do a
PhD?” The Thesis Whisperer, November 2011.
[4] M. Aliotta “Ten good reasons for doing a PhD” Academic Life, November 2011.
[5] J. Hayton “PhD - an uncommon guide to research, writing and PhD life” pub-
lished by James Hayton, 2015.
[6] P. Gosling, B. Noordam “Mastering your PhD: Survival and success in the Doc-
toral Years and Beyond” 2nd edition, Springer, 2011.
[7] E.M. Phillips, D.S. Pugh “How to get a PhD: A handbook for students and their
supervisors” Open University Press, McGaw Hill Education, 4th edition, 2005.
Chapter 2
How Might You Use Your Doctorate,
if You Get One?
2.1 Overview
This chapter will give initial ideas on where you can use a doctorate if you obtain
one. To put some structure into this topic, we will examine the university, private
and government sectors separately. However, in truth, there is much overlap. It is
also possible to move between these sectors. Specific examples of people who have
successfully made the transition in both directions will be provided later in the book.
If you seek employment in a university as a fresh doctoral graduate, then your options
would include the following:
• a postdoctoral position (possibly abroad) involving research on an externally
funded project
• a junior faculty position including teaching and/or research.
In the long run, your options within the university sector include either specializing
or diversifying your research interests and ultimately becoming a full professor. You
might move into administration or management positions such as Dean of a Faculty
or even President of a university.
To illustrate, Graham, upon finishing his doctorate in Australia, took up a junior
faculty position at Imperial College (part of the University of London) in the United
© Springer International Publishing AG 2017 9
G.C. Goodwin and S.F. Graebe, A Doctorate and Beyond,
DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-45877-9_2
10 2 How Might You Use Your Doctorate, if You Get One?
Kingdom. He later returned to Australia where he moved through the academic ranks
to full professor. He changed his research focus repeatedly. Indeed, Graham aimed
to “reinvent” his research direction every five years. This was challenging but also
refreshing and, ultimately, rewarding. He was a regular faculty member for a quarter
of a century, then became Dean of a Faculty and ultimately returned to a full-time
research position.
If you are a fresh doctoral graduate wanting to work in the private sector, then, in
the short term, it is probably best to apply for a position where your specific field of
expertise is relevant. However, eventually you may be given the choice to either stay
in the same technical stream or move to another technical area. Alternatively, you
may choose to progress to a more managerial or leadership role.
To illustrate, Stefan began his industrial career by becoming head of the advanced
control department in a refinery. This position was close to his field of technical exper-
tise as he had previously worked as an Associate Professor in the area of advanced
control engineering. Once in industry, he increasingly built his management career
and became CEO for an aviation joint venture company. Expanding on the business
and strategic skills he acquired in this position, he diversified to becoming the chief
strategist for the international part of the corporation. He then served on the board of
an aviation venture company and as CEO of a crude pipeline company. On leaving
that company, he moved to South Africa where he started a company which offers
personal and business coaching. The latter job combines all of his earlier acquired
skill sets.
Many of the doctoral graduates we have known ended up working in industry.
The jobs are many and varied. Some of the positions are
• Designing and running Induction Heating Furnaces.
• Managing a major egg producing company.
• Being a senior process engineer in the Sugar Industry.
• Working on Marine Engine design.
• Working as an Advanced Process Control engineer.
• Acting as a Process Control consultant.
• Working for a Mining Company.
• Working for a state-owned industrial R&D institution.
• Working (indirectly) for a major mobile telecommunications company.
• Working (directly) for a mobile telecommunication company.
• Running the Computer Operations for a company involved in gambling.
• Designing a new generation of electric vehicles.
• Working for an investment company.
• Designing supply chain systems.
• Writing software for train scheduling.
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
CHAPTER III
TESTIMONY
THE day nurse, Mrs. Christine Hall, the severe lines of her face
showing more plainly in the strong afternoon light and her forehead
puckered in a frown, watched from the bedroom window the parking
of automobiles on the lawn before “Dewdrop Inn,” with an ear
attentively cocked to catch any sound from the bed where Craig
Porter lay looking at the opposite wall with expressionless eyes. The
mud-incrusted automobiles were little varied in shape or make, and
the men who climbed out of them were mostly of middle age, and
the seriousness of their manner as they greeted each other, or stood
in groups chatting with late comers, impressed Nurse Hall. As the
last one disappeared up the steps of the portico and out of her line
of vision, she left the window and hurried to a closed door, but
before she could turn the knob the door opened and Vera Deane
stepped into the bedroom.
“I was just going to call you,” exclaimed Nurse Hall. “The men seem
all to have arrived.”
Vera consulted her wrist watch. “The inquest was called for two
o’clock; they are prompt.”
“To the minute,” agreed her companion. “Are you going downstairs
immediately?”
“No, not until sent for.” Vera turned and wandered restlessly about
the room, taking care, however, that her footfall made no sound
which might disturb Craig Porter. She stopped in the shadow of a
large wing chair and regarded the motionless figure on the bed long
and intently. When she looked away she found Nurse Hall at her
side.
“Does he always stare straight before him?” she asked, almost below
her breath.
“Yes.” Nurse Hall shuddered. “Always that same fixed stare. You can
bless your stars that you have him at night when he is generally
asleep. Sometimes he gives me the creeps.”
“Does he never speak?”
“No, never, and I don’t believe he ever will; the muscles of his throat
are paralyzed. But you need not whisper”—raising her voice. “He
doesn’t understand a word we say.”
“But our talking may annoy him.” The older woman colored; she was
sensitive about her voice, never having been able to conquer its
shrill quality, and she did not take kindly to any criticism of her
conduct of a sick room, especially from a younger and more
inexperienced nurse. Vera laid a quiet hand on her arm. “Forgive the
suggestion, but I cannot rid myself of the belief that often those we
think unconscious hear and understand more than we imagine.”
“Tut, my dear, not in this case. Mr. Porter understands nothing said
to him, even by his mother; and it’s been that way from the first,”
Nurse Hall added, seating herself in the armchair. “I was here when
they brought him back from Europe, and I must say that Dr. Noyes
has worked wonders—”
Vera was not listening—voices in the hall and the sound of advancing
footsteps came to them through the half-open door.
“Have you been notified to attend the inquest?” she asked. Her
question passed unheeded until Nurse Hall, raising a very red face
from the exertion of stooping, had tied her shoestring.
“No, I don’t have to go down,” she answered, puffing slightly. “I
slept soundly all last night. It is too bad your rest has to be
disturbed this afternoon; if you wish”—a sidelong glance
accompanied the words—“I will continue on duty until midnight and
give you an opportunity to make up lost sleep.”
“I don’t believe I could sleep now, thanks all the same. You forget I
found the—the body,” and a shudder which she could not suppress
shook Vera. “I see it whenever I close my eyes.”
“You poor thing!” Her companion patted her arm sympathetically.
“We’ll sleep better and feel differently after the inquest and they
remove the body. Someone is stopping at the door.”
Not waiting for the low rap that sounded a second later, Vera had
sped to open the door, and she found Murray, the footman, standing
in the hall.
“You are wanted, miss, in the library,” he said, and without a
backward glance Vera closed the bedroom door and followed the
servant down the staircase.
Two men, strangers to her, were lounging in the square entrance hall
near the front door, and at her approach they turned and watched
her until the portières, which divided the hall, hid her tall, graceful
figure from their sight. Vera paused an instant before opening the
library door, then, taking a deep breath, she stepped inside the
room.
Grouped about the long center table were six men, while an elderly
man occupied a chair near at hand, and the eighth man in the room
sat before a side table taking notes. The elderly man, whose
authoritative air rightly led Vera to conclude that he was Coroner
Black, was on his feet instantly on catching sight of the new witness,
and pulled forward a chair for her.
“Miss Deane?” he questioned, and she bowed a silent response.
“Then sit here, madam, after McPherson administers the oath,” and
at his words the man at the small table stepped forward, Bible in
hand.
The homelike appearance of the library and the comfortably seated
men, some with up-tilted chairs and sprawling legs, robbed the
inquest of its legal atmosphere, but as Vera repeated the oath “to
tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me
God!” she became conscious of the concentrated regard of her
companions, and her back stiffened as she seated herself bolt
upright in the chair evidently set aside for the witnesses. She faced
the windows, and the afternoon sunshine, like kindly fingers,
touched her quaint snow-white cap, and gave a tint of red to her
waving, curly hair, as her hazel eyes were calmly lifted to encounter
the coroner’s penetrating gaze.
“Are you a native of Washington City, Miss Deane?” he asked, first
giving Deputy Coroner McPherson time to resume his seat and
prepare to take notes.
“I was born in Washington twenty-six years ago,” was the quiet
reply.
“Have you resided continuously in Washington?”
“No, sir, not after the death of my parents,” replied Vera. “I went
West, then later studied to be a trained nurse at the University of
Pennsylvania, graduating from there four years ago.”
“How long have you been attending Mr. Craig Porter?”
“A little over three months.”
“And what do your duties comprise?”
“I am night nurse.” Her concise reply won an approving nod from
one of the jurors.
“Were you summoned to nurse Mr. Bruce Brainard when he became
ill last night?”
“I was, sir.”
“Then did you spend the night by his bedside?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
The question shot from the coroner, and Vera’s fingers tightened
their grip on the arm of her chair, but her voice was not raised or
ruffled as she answered slowly:
“Mr. Brainard’s condition was so improved after taking the medicine
prescribed by Dr. Noyes that he did not require my attendance, and I
therefore returned to my customary duties in Mr. Porter’s bedroom.”
“Do the bedrooms occupied by Mr. Porter and Mr. Brainard adjoin
each other?” inquired Coroner Black.
“They do, sir, but there is no communicating door between them.”
“Ah! Then to enter Mr. Brainard’s bedroom from Mr. Porter’s you had
to go into the main hall and from there into Mr. Brainard’s
bedroom?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then while with Mr. Porter you were cut off by a solid wall from all
communication with your other patient?” questioned the coroner,
intently studying a rough sketch of the interior of the house which
he held in his hand.
“Not entirely,” explained Vera quickly. “There is a transom between
the two rooms which remains open, and I would have heard
instantly if Mr. Brainard had called me.”
“Did he call you?” asked the coroner eagerly, and his face fell at her
monosyllabic “No.”
“Did you hear any noise in Mr. Brainard’s bedroom during the night?”
he began, after a pause.
“Not a sound, sir.”
“Did you go in to see how he was during the night?”
“Yes, once, about half past one. Judging from his regular breathing
that Mr. Brainard was sleeping I tiptoed out of the room without
approaching his bed, and resumed my watch in the next room.”
“Was there any light in Mr. Brainard’s room?”
“Yes, I placed a night light on the bed-stand.”
“Did the candle give sufficient light for you to see Mr. Brainard’s
position in bed?” questioned Coroner Black.
“Yes, sir; he lay on his left side with his face turned toward the door,”
answered Vera. “His face was somewhat in shadow as his back was
turned to the bed-table on which the night light stood, but I could
see that his eyes were closed.”
“Was he lying in the same position when you found him dead the
next morning?”
“No.” Vera whitened as the scene of the tragedy flashed before her
mental vision. “Mr. B-Brainard then lay on his back staring straight
up at the ceiling, his head twisted to one side. Oh!” and one hand
flew upward covering her eyes. “I can never forget the expression of
his face—the look of fear—of agony. Gentlemen”—her hand dropping
to her side, while she steadied herself with determined effort—“he
must have suffered horribly—before he died.”
“And you, awake in the next room, heard no sound?” Coroner Black
repeated his former question with quiet persistence.
“I heard no sound,” responded Vera mechanically. “Absolutely no
sound.”
A pause followed as Coroner Black fumbled among the papers lying
on the table. When he removed his hand his fingers clutched a razor.
“Have you seen this razor before?” he inquired, offering it to her.
Vera shrank back. “I saw a razor lying on the bed beside Mr.
Brainard. I did not pick it up or examine it closely.”
“You mean that you cannot identify this as the razor which you saw
lying on Mr. Brainard’s bed this morning?”
“Yes,” and there was a change in her tone, too subtle to be detected
by the coroner. She hurried on before he could ask another question:
“On discovering Mr. Brainard’s condition this morning I went for Dr.
Noyes, and as he was not in his room, I hastened to get Mr. Hugh
Wyndham.”
“How do you know that Dr. Noyes was not in his room?” demanded
Coroner Black.
Vera looked at him in surprise. “When I received no response to my
repeated raps, I turned the handle of the door and entered his
bedroom—it was empty.”
“Did you meet anyone in the hall on your way to summon Dr. Noyes
and Mr. Wyndham?”
“No, sir, no one.”
Coroner Black rose. “I think that is all, Miss Deane; no, stay, there is
one other point—were you sent for when Mr. Brainard was taken ill
at the dinner table?”
“No. I was not aware of his illness until Dr. Noyes informed me that
he and Mr. Wyndham had assisted a guest, who was suffering from
vertigo, into the spare bedroom, and directed me to administer a
dose of aromatic spirits of ammonia, and to make him comfortable
for the night, and then to return to Mr. Porter.”
Coroner Black referred to his notes before again addressing her.
“Did you observe where Mr. Brainard’s clothes had been placed?” he
asked.
Vera wrinkled her pretty forehead in thought. “I believe they were
lying on the sofa, but I cannot swear to it,” she replied.
“Do you recall seeing the clothes this morning?”
“I do not, sir,” was her prompt reply. “My whole attention was
absorbed by the—the figure on the bed. I was too—too terrified to
observe anything else in the room.”
Coroner Black stared at her intently; her repose of manner and air of
efficiency were at variance with her words. Judging from
appearances she seemed the last person to lose her head in an
emergency.
“That is all,” he announced, and covered his abruptness with an old-
fashioned bow as he preceded her to the door. “I thank you, Miss
Deane.”
With a slight inclination of her head to the jurors Vera slipped out of
the room and made haste toward the staircase, but not before she
heard Coroner Black’s low-toned command to the footman to enter
the library.
The well-trained servant stood while the oath was being
administered to him, then subsided into the seat indicated and
waited patiently for the coroner to address him.
“State your full name and occupation,” directed the latter, examining
the footman’s intelligent face, somber livery, and general air of
respectability.
“Murray, sir, John Murray,” and the Scotch burr was unmistakable.
“I’ve been second man to Mrs. Porter, sir, for going on seven years.”
“Did you admit Mr. Brainard when he arrived here last night?”
“I did, sir.”
“Did he have a bag or suitcase with him?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you assist Dr. Noyes and Mr. Wyndham in conducting Mr.
Brainard to his bedroom after his attack of illness in the dining-
room?”
“No, sir; he could walk with the assistance of the other gentlemen.”
There was silence as Coroner Black referred to his notebook, and his
manner grew stern when he turned back to the witness.
“The butler, Selby, has testified you mentioned to the servants that
you went to the assistance of Mr. Brainard when he was taken ill. Did
you make such a statement?”
“I did, sir; and it is true—I assisted Mr. Brainard when he had his
first attack, sir.”
“Ah, when was that?” and the coroner looked at him with quickened
interest.
“Just after him and Miss Millicent had had words in the garden
beyond,” indicating the windows and the portico. “I was in here
arranging the liqueurs and cigars, sir, when I heard a scream
through the partly open window, and I ran out and found Miss
Millicent cowering against one of the big pillars and saying: ‘No, no!’
between her sobs.” He stopped abruptly. “I beg your pardon for
talking so much.”
“Go on,” commanded Black. “Tell us everything.” The jurors and the
deputy coroner were hanging on the footman’s words.
“Miss Millicent bolted by me into the house, and I was just turning to
follow her when Mr. Brainard appeared out of the darkness—Miss
Millicent had been standing where the light from the library fell on
her,” he explained. “Mr. Brainard staggered toward me, and before I
could reach him, he fell.” Murray cleared his throat and eyed each
one of his expectant hearers; he enjoyed the sensation his testimony
was producing.
“Well, what then?” prompted Coroner Black.
“I picked up Mr. Brainard; no easy matter, sir, for he was a dead
weight”—the footman was not to be hurried—“and I carried him in
here, sir, plumped him down in that chair and gave him a drink of
cognac.”
“What appeared to be the matter with him?”
“He said he was dizzy like, and that everything swam before him,”
explained Murray, with careful attention to detail. “He was very red
in the face and shook all over; but the cognac brought him around
after a bit, and, asking me to say nothing of his little upset, he went
on into the drawing-room.”
“Was he in evening clothes?” The foreman of the jury spoke for the
first time and looked somewhat alarmed at the sound of his own
voice.
“Surely, sir; it was shortly before dinner was announced. Mr. Brainard
motored out and reached here about half past six.”
“When was dinner served?” inquired Black.
“Eight o’clock, sir.”
“Humph!” The coroner jotted down the figures in his notebook. “Was
Mr. Brainard a frequent caller here?”
“He was, sir, last year, but not recently, sir.” The footman paused
thoughtfully, and then added: “Not since Dr. Noyes has been here.”
Coroner Black wheeled on him sharply. “What do you mean by that
remark?”
“Nothing, sir.” Murray’s eyes opened in astonishment. “I was only
trying to place the last time I’d seen Mr. Brainard here. My master,
Mr. Craig Porter, and Dr. Noyes reached home early in October; yes,
sir, Mr. Brainard hasn’t been here since then, I’m sure.”
The coroner considered the footman in silence for several seconds.
“When did you last see Dr. Noyes?” he asked finally.
“About midnight, sir. I went up to his room to ask if I could do
anything for him. Part of my duties is valeting for Mr. Hugh and Mr.
Craig, and the gentlemen staying in the house,” he added, reading
the unspoken question on the coroner’s lips.
“How did Dr. Noyes appear?” inquired Black.
“Appear?” Murray reflected for a moment. “I can’t answer that, sir,
for I didn’t really see him; the door was opened only a little way, and
I just caught a glimpse of him as he stood before his chiffonier
stropping his razor.”
The coroner and Dr. McPherson exchanged glances.
“Wasn’t that an unusual hour for such an occupation?” asked the
former.
“Quite so, sir; but it was this way, sir”—Murray’s words tumbled over
each other in his haste—“the doctor had shaved just before dinner,
and I hadn’t had time to put away his things, and last night when I
apologized for leaving his chiffonier in such disorder, sir, and offered
to come in and straighten up, he told me it was midnight and to go
to bed, that he had already cleaned the razor and put the mug
away.”
Coroner Black reached forward and picked up the razor he had
shown Vera Deane.
“Does this razor belong to Dr. Noyes?” he asked.
A dead silence prevailed as Murray took the razor and examined the
open blade with its reddish stains. He shook his head.
“No, sir, it is not Dr. Noyes’ razor.”
CHAPTER IV
MORE TESTIMONY
CORONER BLACK took the razor from the footman and laid it
carefully back on the table.
“You are excused,” he announced, and, as Murray rose with alacrity,
he added, “Inform Mrs. Porter that we will be obliged by her
presence here.”
“Yes, sir; certainly, sir,” and Murray backed from the room, but
before going upstairs to find Mrs. Porter he bolted into the pantry
and mopped his white face which was damp with perspiration, then,
refreshing himself with a glass of port, he went on his belated
errand.
Inside the library the jurors whispered to one another, and at a
muttered request the foreman picked up the razor, passed it to his
neighbor, and each man at the table in turn examined the stained
blade and handle with absorbed interest, while the coroner and
McPherson compared notes in an undertone. The opening of the hall
door brought them all to attention, and Mrs. Porter’s entrance was
greeted by a lengthened silence.
Hardly deigning to listen to Coroner Black’s explanation of the
formalities to be gone through, she laid a bejeweled hand on the
Bible presented to her by McPherson, and repeated the oath in an
expressionless monotone.
“Pray be seated, madam,” and Coroner Black pointed to the chair by
which she was standing. “We will not detain you long,” and in rapid
succession he asked her her full name and length of residence in
that vicinity.
“I have spent the summer months here ever since inheriting the
property from my husband’s uncle,” she said, in answer to the latter
question. “This is the first winter that we have kept the house open,
but Dr. Noyes deemed it inadvisable to move my son again, and so
—” An expressive gesture completed the sentence.
“How long has Dr. Noyes been in attendance upon your son?” asked
Black.
“He accompanied Craig home from the hospital in France.” Real
feeling betrayed itself in Mrs. Porter’s metallic tones. “My son owes
his life to his skill and his untiring attention. We shall miss him now
that he has returned to England.”
“Ah, then you think Dr. Noyes is on his way back to the front again?”
Black was watching her closely as he toyed with his pencil.
“Certainly. Where else would he go?” glancing disdainfully at him.
“No Englishman nowadays lingers behind when his leave of absence
is over.”
“But my dear madam, would Dr. Noyes depart so abruptly—without
bidding you good-by; without the formality of notifying even the
nurses in charge of your son that he would not be back?” asked
Black incredulously.
“Dr. Noyes had been expecting a summons home for over ten days,”
explained Mrs. Porter, in a tone sometimes used to quiet a petulant
child, and Black colored. “He had arranged to have the cable
telephoned out to him; his bag stood packed, and whatever good-
bys he had to say were said to my daughter and myself yesterday.”
“At what hour did this cable reach Dr. Noyes?” demanded Black.
“I presume during the night. He said that he would remain in the
library on the chance of a telephone message coming for him,” was
her glib reply.
Black eyed her sharply. “Who is to attend your son in Dr. Noyes’
absence?” he asked, but if he hoped to trap Mrs. Porter he was
disappointed. Her answer was prompt.
“Dr. Washburn of Alexandria. Dr. Noyes called him in consultation,
and all arrangements were made last week to take over the case.”
Coroner Black considered a moment before again addressing her,
and Mrs. Porter permitted her gaze to wander about, noting inwardly
the disarrangement of the usually orderly room, and she turned back
to the jurors with a distinct air of disapproval. Coroner Black’s next
question caused her to catch her breath sharply.
“Were your daughter and Mr. Bruce Brainard engaged to be
married?” he asked.
“I question your right to ask that,” she retorted. “My family affairs
had nothing to do with Mr. Brainard’s shocking suicide.”
“We are the best judges of that, madam,” replied Black quietly. “It is
our duty to expedite this inquiry, and to do so we must know
whether or not Mr. Brainard was on friendly terms with each member
of this household on the night of his death—”
“He was, sir, otherwise he would not have been my guest,” broke in
Mrs. Porter.
“Did you invite him to spend the night, or only to dine with you?”
“I simply asked him to dinner.” She paused, then added: “He was
taken ill at the dinner table, and my nephew, Mr. Wyndham, and Dr.
Noyes helped him upstairs and put him to bed in one of the spare
bedrooms. Dr. Noyes said that Mr. Brainard was in no condition to
motor in to Washington last night.”
“When did you last see Mr. Brainard?”
“When he left the dining-room.”
Black looked at her attentively and noted the flush which had
mounted to her pale cheeks during their colloquy.
“I must remind you, madam,” he commenced, and his manner was
serious, “that you have not answered my question regarding the
relationship existing between your daughter and Mr. Brainard.”
“They were friends,” curtly.
“Nothing more?” persisted the coroner.
Mrs. Porter regarded him with no friendly eye, then apparently
thinking better of her brusqueness, answered more courteously:
“Mr. Brainard admired my daughter greatly, and paid her the
compliment of asking my consent to their marriage.”
“Did you give your consent?” prompted Black as she stopped.
“He was to have had my answer this morning.”
“Oh!” The coroner gazed blankly at Mrs. Porter, failing utterly to
appreciate her stately beauty and quietly gowned, modish figure.
She was a remarkably well preserved woman, on whose face time
had left few wrinkles, and she looked much younger than she was.
Several seconds elapsed before Black again addressed her.
“Did your daughter reciprocate Mr. Brainard’s affection?”
“My daughter would not have accepted his attention had she not
liked and admired him,” she responded evasively, and Black lost all
patience.
“Kindly give a direct answer to my question,” he exclaimed harshly.
“Were your daughter and Mr. Brainard engaged?”
“I believe there was an understanding to that effect,” she admitted
sullenly. “But until I gave my consent”—a shrug completed the
sentence, and Black instantly asked:
“Why did you withhold your consent, madam?”
“You are laboring under a mistaken idea,” replied Mrs. Porter coldly.
“My consent was only asked yesterday, and I very properly told Mr.
Brainard that I needed a night in which to think it over.”
The coroner stroked his chin as he contemplated Mrs. Porter, then
observing the jurors’ air of interest, asked more briskly: “When did
you make Mr. Brainard’s acquaintance?”
“About a year ago, and until he went to South America he was a
frequent visitor at my house.” Mrs. Porter glanced involuntarily at the
clock as it chimed the hour, and the coroner rose.
“Please give me the names of your dinner guests,” he said, picking
up a pencil and drawing a pad toward him.
“Captain and Mrs. Mark Willert, Miss Margaret Spencer, my daughter
Millicent, my nephew, Mr. Hugh Wyndham, Dr. Noyes, Mr. Brainard—
let me see, that makes eight,” checking them off on her finger. “I
have a few intimate friends in to dinner every week on Millicent’s
account. I do not want her brother’s distressing illness to cast too
great a shadow on my daughter’s young life.”
“Is your son improving?”
“Yes, thank God!” Mrs. Porter’s eyes shone with a softer light and
her voice shook. “Dr. Noyes and time will work wonders in his
condition. I”—she paused and steadied her voice—“I have every
confidence in Dr. Noyes.”
Coroner Black bowed. “We will not keep you longer, madam; but
before you leave kindly examine this razor and tell us if you can
identify it.”
“I will look at it, certainly.” It took her a second or two to disentangle
her lorgnette chain from a tassel on her gown, then raising her
glasses she stared at the blood-stained article. “To the best of my
knowledge I have not seen it before,” she announced, rising, and at
a sign from the coroner retreated toward the hall door, hardly
responding to the foreman’s curt nod.
Bidding her a courteous good afternoon, Coroner Black opened the
door and waited for her to pass into the hall, then stepped after her
in time to see her pause and draw back into an alcove as Dr. Beverly
Thorne approached them. If Dr. Thorne observed the latent air of
hostility and discourtesy in her bearing there was no indication of it
in his unruffled manner as he greeted the coroner.
“Sorry to be late, Black,” he said. “But an important case—” as he
spoke he removed his overcoat and handed it and his hat to the
attentive footman. “Do you wish me to testify now?”
“No. I want you here in your capacity of ‘J. P.,’” responded the
coroner. “In other words, look, listen and—note.” The last word was
added as he held the library door ajar before throwing it wide open.
“Murray, request Mr. Hugh Wyndham to come to the library.”
Thorne exchanged a low-toned word with McPherson and several of
the jurors before slipping into a large wing chair which partly
concealed his presence. Hugh Wyndham had evidently been
awaiting the summons, for he followed hard upon the heels of the
footman and stepped briskly into the library. The preliminaries were
quickly gone through with, and Wyndham, while waiting for the
coroner to question him, occupied his time in inspecting his
companions, and his eyes contracted slightly at sight of Beverly
Thorne, who sat gazing idly at the log fire which blazed in the stone
fireplace, and added greatly to the picturesqueness and comfort of
the well proportioned room.
“State your full name and occupation, Mr. Wyndham,” requested the
coroner, resuming his seat.
“Hugh Wyndham, stock broker, just now not connected with any
firm,” he added by way of explanation. “Since the failure in
November of the banking house of Mullen Company with which I
was connected I have been residing with my aunt, Mrs. Lawrence
Porter.”
“Were you and Mr. Brainard old friends, Mr. Wyndham?”
“We have known each other for over a year, but were acquaintances
rather than friends,” replied Wyndham, flicking a white thread from
his coat sleeve.
Black shot a questioning look at him. “Do I understand that you
were not friends?” he asked.
“Oh, we were friendly enough on the few occasions that we met, but
our professions gave us very few opportunities to become better
acquainted.”
“What was Mr. Brainard’s occupation?”
“He was a mining engineer.”
The coroner leaned over and consulted Dr. McPherson’s notes, then,
sitting back in his chair, asked: “Did Mr. Brainard complain of feeling
ill before dinner last night?”
“No, except to tell Captain Willert and myself that the climate in
South America had played the devil with him.”
“Were you present at the dinner table when he was taken ill last
night?”
“Yes. Dr. Noyes said that he was suffering from vertigo, and Mrs.
Porter suggested that we take him upstairs and put him to bed.”
Again Coroner Black referred to McPherson’s notes before asking
another question.
“Did Mr. Brainard have any suitcase or luggage with him?” he
inquired.
“No. I loaned him a pair of my pyjamas.”
“When did you last see Mr. Brainard alive?”
“I left him in bed, apparently better, and followed Dr. Noyes
downstairs.”
“Leaving no one with the sick man?” asked Black swiftly.
“Yes, Miss Deane,” responded Wyndham. “Dr. Noyes sent her to look
after Brainard. Miss Deane said that she would be within call if he
needed assistance during the night.” He hesitated, and then added,
“I volunteered to sit up with Brainard, but she said that it was not
necessary.”
“Were you disturbed by noises during the night?”
“No.” Wyndham shifted his position, and one foot tapped the floor
incessantly. “I am a heavy sleeper and my room is some distance
from that occupied by Brainard.”
“You were asleep when Miss Deane rapped at your door this
morning?”
“Yes.”
“You accompanied her to Mr. Brainard’s bedroom?”
“I did.”
“Describe the condition in which you found Mr. Brainard and his
bedroom,” directed Black, polishing his eyeglasses, and replacing
them to scrutinize the witness more closely.
“I found Brainard lying on his back on the right side of his bed.”
Wyndham stopped and moistened his lips. “His throat was cut and
the wound had bled profusely.”
“Did you find any weapon in the room?”
“An open blood-stained razor was lying on the bed beside Brainard.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No.”
“Mr. Wyndham,” Coroner Black spoke slowly, evidently weighing his
words, “did you loan a razor as well as a pair of pyjamas to Mr.
Brainard?”
“I did not,” came the instant and emphatic denial.
“Then, if you did not give him the razor, how did Mr. Brainard secure
possession of the razor which you saw on his bed?” asked Black.
“You, and other witnesses, have testified that Mr. Brainard brought
no luggage with him and did not come prepared to spend the night.”
“I have puzzled over his possessing a razor,” agreed Wyndham.
“Then it occurred to me that perhaps he brought it with him from
town intending to commit suicide on the way home.”
“An ingenious theory,” acknowledged Black. “But why should Mr.
Brainard plan to commit suicide when his engagement to a beautiful
and wealthy girl was about to be announced?”
“Mr. Brainard’s ill health may have unbalanced his mind.”
“Did Mr. Brainard show symptoms of insanity last night?” asked Black
quietly.
“N-no.” Wyndham thought a minute, then glanced at the coroner.
“The attack of vertigo”—he began and stopped as Coroner Black
smiled and shook his head.
“Mr. Wyndham”—Black turned abruptly and produced the razor
—“have you seen this before?”
Wyndham took it from him gingerly. “It resembles the one I saw
lying on the bed close by Brainard’s left hand,” he said at last.
“It is the same one,” announced Black shortly. “Had you ever seen
this razor before finding it on Brainard’s bed this morning?”
“No.” Wyndham examined it with care and then held up the razor so
that all could see it. “It evidently belongs to a set, one to be used
every day in the week—this particular razor is marked Monday—”
“And today is Tuesday,” commented the foreman of the jury. The
juror nearest him nudged him to be quiet, and the coroner resumed
his examination.
“To your knowledge, Mr. Wyndham, does anyone in this household
own a set of razors such as you describe?” he demanded.
“No.” Wyndham’s monosyllable rang out emphatically and his eyes
met the coroner’s squarely. “Personally, I use an ordinary razor. Can
I send for it?”
“Certainly,” and the coroner turned to McPherson, who rose.
“You will find my razor in the top drawer of my bureau; Murray, the
footman, will show you my room,” explained Wyndham. “At the
same time Murray can get the razor belonging to my cousin, Craig
Porter. The footman shaves him,” he supplemented, “using a Gillett
safety razor.”
“The footman is waiting in the hall,” added Coroner Black, and,
barely waiting for the closing of the library door behind McPherson,
he asked: “Was Mr. Brainard left-handed?”
“I don’t think so.” Wyndham considered the question. “No, I am sure
that he was not. Once or twice I have played billiards with him, and
I would certainly have observed any such peculiarity.”
A sudden movement on the part of Beverly Thorne brought the
coroner’s attention to him.
“Do you care to question the witness, doctor?” he inquired and, as
Thorne nodded, he explained hurriedly to Wyndham, whose brow
had darkened ominously: “Dr. Thorne is a justice of the peace and is
here to assist in this investigation at my request,” with quiet
emphasis on the last words, and Wyndham thought better of hot-
tempered objections. Thorne rose and approached the center table
before speaking.
“Mr. Wyndham,” he began, “did you telephone into town that Mr.
Brainard was ill and would spend the night in this house?”
“No,” answered Wyndham, and his tone was of the curtest.
“To your knowledge did anyone else in this house telephone
Brainard’s condition to friends in Washington?”
“I did not hear of it if they did.”
“Then no one, outside this household, knew that Brainard was
spending the night here?”
Wyndham moved impatiently. “You forget Mrs. Porter had other
dinner guests last night,” he said stiffly. “They knew of his illness and
his presence here.”
“True,” broke in the coroner. “Mrs. Porter has already furnished me
with their names, and—” But before he could add more Thorne
interposed with a question.
“How about Brainard’s chauffeur?”
“He had none, but drove his own car,” responded Wyndham.
“Is that still here?”
“I believe so. Sims, Mrs. Porter’s chauffeur, reported it was in the
garage this morning.”
At that moment the door opened to admit McPherson, who
advanced somewhat short of breath from hurrying, and laid an
ordinary razor and a Gillett “safety” on the center table.
“The first razor I found in Mr. Wyndham’s bureau,” he announced.
“The second was handed to me by Miss Deane.” He stopped to
resume his seat, then continued more slowly: “The nurse showed
me where Mr. Porter’s shaving things are kept in the bathroom
between his bedroom and that occupied by the nurses.”
“Thanks, McPherson.” Coroner Black replaced the blood-stained
razor on the table beside the others. “You are excused, Mr.
Wyndham.”
Wyndham bowed and stepped past Thorne; at the door he
hesitated, but, catching Thorne’s eyes, he turned and left the room
without speaking.
“McPherson, will you take the stand?” directed Black, and the deputy
coroner sat down in the chair reserved for the witnesses, after first
having the oath administered to him. “You performed the autopsy on
Mr. Brainard?” asked Black a few seconds later.
“I did.” McPherson displayed an anatomical chart, and used his
pencil as an indicator while he continued: “I found an incipient
tumor of the brain. Brainard’s attacks of vertigo were due to that.”
The deputy coroner raised his voice as his pencil traveled down the
chart and rested on the throat. “The wound was on the lower part of
Brainard’s neck and the carotid artery was severed. He bled to
death.”
“Was the wound self-inflicted, doctor?” questioned Thorne, taking
the chart and examining it closely before passing it over to the juror
nearest him.
McPherson shook his head at Thorne’s question. “I do not believe
the wound was self-inflicted,” he said, “for the wound commences
under the right ear and extends toward the left; whereas, in the
case of suicide the cut would have been made just the reverse.”
McPherson’s words were listened to with deep attention, and in the
silence that followed Thorne grew conscious of the loud ticking of
the clock.
“Then in your opinion, McPherson,” commented Coroner Black,
“Bruce Brainard was murdered?”
“Yes,” answered the deputy coroner. “The nature of the wound
proves conclusively that it could not have been suicide.”
“Unless,” broke in Thorne, “unless Brainard was left-handed.”
“That point can be easily settled,” snapped the coroner. “That’s all,
McPherson, thank you;” and as the doctor left the witness chair he
added, “Kindly ask Detective Mitchell to step here.”
It was growing darker in the room and Thorne walked over to the
windows and pushed back the long curtains and pulled up the
Holland shades. The sunshine had almost totally disappeared, and
the gray of late afternoon alone lighted the room. Thorne moved
over to one of the lamps which were dotted about, and was busy
lighting it when Detective Mitchell followed McPherson back into the
room.
“Have you discovered which servants own razors in this house,
Mitchell?” asked the coroner, after the new witness had answered
other questions.
“Yes, sir.” Mitchell took two razors from his pocket. “I have them
each ticketed; this one belongs to the footman, Murray, and this to
the butler, Selby.”
The coroner accepted the two razors and compared them with the
blood-stained one on the table, then he passed all three to the
jurors.
“They are not in the least alike,” he said thoughtfully. “Did you
examine Dr. Noyes’ bedroom, Mitchell?”
“I did,” answered the detective. “The bed had evidently been slept
in, as the sheets and blankets were tumbled about, but all the
doctor’s clothes were packed in his steamer trunk.”
“Was his trunk locked?”
“No, sir.” Mitchell paused. “I examined its contents, but I could not
find any razor or strop.”
“Were his overcoat and hat in his closet?”
“No, nor downstairs in the coat closet,” was Mitchell’s prompt
response. “I questioned all the servants and Mrs. Porter, and they
say that Dr. Noyes owned a large grip with his initials—it is missing,
and I conclude that he has taken it with him, for Murray declares
that some underclothes and one suit of clothes are missing.”
“I see.” Coroner Black frowned, then glanced toward Thorne, and
the latter addressed the detective.
“Have you found any trace of burglars breaking into the house last
night, Mitchell?”
“No. And I examined the ground about this house very thoroughly,
as well as every window catch and keyhole; none have been
tampered with. The servants declare they were securely locked last
night, and found in the same condition this morning.”
Thorne laid aside the pencil he had been twisting about in his fingers
and pointed to the blood-stained razor.
“Did you find finger marks on this razor?”
“No, none.” Mitchell looked glum. “We tested every article in Mr.
Brainard’s bedroom and could not find a trace of finger prints.”
Thorne turned back to Coroner Black. “I have no further questions to
ask the witness,” and the coroner dismissed Mitchell.
“As you go out, Mitchell,” he added, “please send word to Miss
Millicent Porter that I would like to see her here.”
By the time the hall door again opened every lamp the room boasted
was lit, and Millicent Porter paused just within the library to
accustom herself to the sudden glare. Thorne and the jurors noted
the lines of care on her white face and the dark circles under her
eyes, and as Thorne approached her he muttered under his breath,
in subdued admiration, “What an exquisite child!” She seemed little
more in her simple dark dress, and her beauty was of the ethereal
type.
“We won’t keep you here very long, Miss Porter.” Coroner Black
bustled forward and, snatching up a cushion from the sofa, placed it
in the witness chair. “You will be more comfortable so.” She smiled
her thanks, looking up at him timidly. “Now, if you will rise for a
second Dr. McPherson will—there,” soothingly, observing her startled
expression. “Just repeat the oath after McPherson and place your
hand on the Bible—so. Now sit right here. Kindly tell the jurors your
full name—”
“Millicent Porter.”
“And how long have you known Mr. Brainard, Miss Porter?”
“A little over a year.” She spoke with an effort and several of the
jurors hitched their chairs nearer so as not to miss a word she said.
“And when did you become engaged to him?” inquired Coroner
Black.
Millicent flushed scarlet. “I—I—” she stumbled badly. “We were—it
was—” Then in an indignant rush, “My private affairs do not concern
you; I decline to answer impertinent questions.”
Coroner Black bowed and adjusted his eyeglasses, and to the
disappointment of a number of the jurors he did not press the point.
“Why did you and Mr. Brainard quarrel last night?” he asked.
“Quarrel?” Millicent stared at him, then laughed a bit unsteadily. “Mr.
Brainard and I quarrel—what nonsense! Who put such an idea in
your head, sir?”
“Your footman, Murray, has testified that he overheard you exclaim,
‘No! No!’ on the portico there,” pointing to the long windows. “And
after you had dashed by him into the house Murray found Mr.
Brainard lying overcome on the ground.”
Millicent never removed her eyes from the coroner; she seemed
drinking in his words, half unable to believe them.
“Murray saw us?” she stammered, half to herself. “I had no idea
others were about.” Abruptly she checked her hasty speech, and her
determined chin set in obstinate lines. “Apparently you know
everything that transpired last night. Then why question me?” she
demanded.
“We do not know everything,” replied Coroner Black patiently. “For
instance, we do not know who murdered Bruce Brainard.”
His words struck home. She reeled in her seat, and but for Thorne’s
supporting arm would have fallen to the floor.
“Murdered!” she gasped. “Murdered? You must be mistaken.”
“Unfortunately, Miss Porter, the medical evidence proves conclusively
that it was murder and not suicide. Now,” continued Black, eying her
watchfully, “we want your aid in tracking the murderer—”
“I know nothing—nothing!” she burst in passionately. “I never saw
Mr. Brainard again after he went upstairs; I slept soundly all last
night, and heard nothing.”
“Even if you know nothing about the happenings last night, perhaps
you can still tell us something which may prove a clue,” began Black,
and his manner grew more earnest. “Did Mr. Brainard ever tell you
that he had enemies?”
“No.”
“Did he ever mention that his life had been threatened?” persisted
Black.
“No.” Millicent was white to the lips, and she held out her hands
pleadingly. “Indeed, gentlemen, I cannot help you—why ask me
questions that I cannot answer?”
The big, raw-boned foreman of the jury met her eyes and moved
awkwardly, but before he could think what to say Coroner Black
again addressed her.
“There are certain formalities to be gone through, Miss Porter.” As he
spoke he walked over to the center table and picked up the blood-
stained razor, holding it directly under the rays of the nearest lamp.
“Kindly look at this razor and tell us if you know to whom it belongs.”
If the razor had been Medusa’s head it could have held no more
deadly fascination for Millicent. She sat as if carved from stone.
Coroner Black repeated his question once, and then again—still no
response.
Beverly Thorne broke the tense stillness.
“Did Dr. Noyes bid you good-by before departing, Miss Porter?” he
asked.
Galvanized into action, Millicent sprang from her seat, and, before
anyone guessed her intention or any hand could stay her, she
dashed from the library.
Coroner Black made a hasty step toward the door, but Thorne
detained him.
“Suppose you sum up the case to the jury,” he suggested, and
resumed his seat.
CHAPTER V
DOROTHY DEANE, “SOCIETY EDITOR”
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