# The Holladay Case (Detective Story Magazine)/Chapter 2
### CHAPTER II.
#### A Bolt From the Blue

The outer room was crowded from end to end, and the atmosphere reeked with unpleasant dampness. Behind the little railing before the medical examiner's desk we took our seats.
I saw Singleton, the district attorney, come in and sit down near Goldberg, and then the jury filed in from their room and took their seats. Mr. Royce was looking over their names, and he checked them off carefully as the clerk called the roll. Then he handed the list up to the medical examiner with a little nod.
Singleton nodded to the coroner after a moment, the room was called to order, and the first witness summoned.
It was Rogers, the confidential clerk.
After the usual preliminaries, Doctor Goldberg soon came to the core of the matter.
“Now, Mr. Rogers,” he said, “will you kindly tell us, in your own way and with as much detail as possible, exactly what happened at your office shortly before five o'clock yesterday afternoon?”
“Well, sir,” he began, “we had a very busy day yesterday, and were at the office considerably later than usual; but by five o'clock we had closed up work for the day, and all the other clerks, with the exception of the office boy, had gone home. I had made some notes from Mr. Holladay's dictation, and had returned to my desk to arrange them, when the outer door opened and Mr. Holladay's daughter came in. She asked me whether her father was engaged, and upon my saying no, opened the inner door and entered his office. She remained, I should think, about ten minutes; then she came out again, walked rapidly past without looking at me, and, I suppose, left the building. After arranging my notes I entered Mr. Holladay's office to ask if he had any further instructions for me, and I found him lying forward on his desk, a knife sticking in his neck, a crimson pool on the floor. I summoned aid, but he died without regaining consciousness. I should say he was practically dead when I found him.”
I felt rather than heard the little stir which ran through the room.
“Now, let us go back a moment,” said Doctor Goldberg, as Rogers stopped to mop his forehead. “I want the jury to understand your story thoroughly. Mr. Holladay had been dictating to you?”
“Yes.”
“And was quite well?”
“As well as usual. He'd been suffering with indigestion for some time past.”
“Still he was able to attend to business?”
“Oh, yes, sir. There was nothing at all serious in his illness.”
“You then left his office and returned to your own. How long had you been there before the outer door opened?”
“Not over five minutes.”
“And who was it entered?”
“Miss Frances Holladay, the daughter of my employer.”
“You're quite sure? You know her well?”
“Very well. I've known her for many years. She often came to the office in the evening to take her father home. I supposed that was what she came for yesterday.”
“You looked at her attentively?”
Rogers hitched impatiently in his chair.
“I glanced at her, as I always do,” he said. “I didn't stare.”
“But you're quite sure it was Miss Holladay?”
“Absolutely sure, sir.”
“Now, after Miss Holladay entered the inner office, how long did she remain there?”
“About ten minutes, I should say; not longer than that, certainly.”
“Did you hear any sound of conversation, or any unusual noise of any kind?”
“No, sir. It would have been a very unusual noise to be audible. Mr. Holladay's office has heavy walls and a double door which completely shut off all sounds from within.”
“Miss Holladay then came out?”
"Yes, sir.”
“And walked past your”
“Yes, sir; walked past me rapidly.”
“Did you notice her face? Did she seem perturbed?”
“No, sir; I didn't notice. I just glanced up and bowed. In fact, I didn't see her face at all, for she had lowered her veil.”
“Her veil!” repeated the medical examiner. “You hadn't mentioned that she wore a veil.”
“No, sir; when she came into th e office she had lifted it up over her hat brim—you know how women do.”
“You saw her face distinctly when she entered?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But when she went out, she had lowered her veil. Was it a heavy one?”
“Just an ordinary veil, I should say.”
“But still heavy enough to conceal her face?”
“Oh, yes, sir.
“Now, Mr. Rogers, how long a time elapsed after the departure of the woman before you went back into the inner office?”
“Not more than three or. four minutes. I thought perhaps Mr. Holladay was getting ready to accompany his daughter, and I didn't wish to detain him.”
“And you found him, as you say, lying forward across his desk with a knife in his throat and a crimson pool on the floor. Did you recognize the knife?”
Rogers looked at it carefully.
“That's the knife, sir,” he said, and it was passed to the jury. When they had finished with it, Mr. Royce and I examined it. It was an ordinary one-bladed erasing knife with ivory handle. It was open, the blade being about two inches and a half in length, and, as I soon conviced myself, very sharp indeed.
“Will you describe Mr. Holladay's position?” continued the coroner.
“He was lying forward on the desk, with his arms outstretched, his head to one side.”
“And there was a great deal of blood?”
“Oh, a great deal! Some one had attempted to check it, for a little distance away there was a handkerchief soaked in it.”
Doctor Goldberg picked up a handkerchief and handed it to the witness.
“Is that the handkerchief?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” said Rogers, after a moment.
“Is it a man's or a woman's handkerchief?”
“Oh, a woman's undoubtedly.”
The jury examined it and so did we. Then Rogers told the rest of the story—how he had summoned aid and informed the police.
“Now, Mr. Rogers,” continued Goldberg, when he had finished, “there is one point more. Has there been anything in your knowledge of Mr. Holladay or his business to suggest the idea of suicide?”
The witness shook his head decidedly.
“Nothing whatever, sir,” he said positively.
“Let us suppose for a moment,” continued Goldberg, “that he did actually stab himself in his daughter's presence; what would you naturally expect her to do?”
“I should expect her to give the alarm—to summon aid, replied Rogers.
“Certainly—unquestionably,” and Goldberg nodded to my chief. “I'll turn the witness over to you, Mr. Royce,” he said.
“Now, Mr. Rogers,” began our junior impressively, “you know, of course, that this whole case hinges, at present, on your identification of the woman who, presumably, was in Mr. Holladay's office when he was stabbed. I want to be very sure of that identification. Will you tell me how she was dressed?”
The witness paused for a moment's thought.
“She wore a dress of very dark red,” he said at last, “with some sort of narrow dark trimming—black, possibly. That's all I can tell you about it.”
“And the hat?”
“I didn't notice the hat, sir. I only glanced at her.”
“But in that glance, Mr. Rogers, did you see nothing unusual—nothing which suggested to your mind that possibly it might not be Miss Holladay?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Some change of demeanor, perhaps; of expression?”
The witness hesitated.
“I thought she was looking not quite so well as usual,” he said slowly. “She seemed a little pale and worried.”
“Is your office well lighted?”
“I have a light over my desk, sir, and there's another on the wall.”
“So you could not see your visitor's face with absolute clearness?”
“No, sir; but quite clearly enough to recognize her,” he added doggedly.
“Yet you thought her looking pale and worried.”
“Yes, sir; that was my impression.”
“And when she asked for Mr. Holladay, did she use the words 'my father,' as your evidence would suggest?”
Again the witness hesitated in an effort at recollection.
“No, sir,” he answered finally. “Her words, I think, were, 'Is Mr. Holladay engaged at present?'”
“It was Miss Hollady's voice?”
“I could not say, sir,” answered the Witness, again mopping the perspiration from his forehead. “I have no wish to incriminate Miss Holladay unnecessarily. I'm not sufficiently well acquainted with her voice to swear to it.”
“Well, when you answered her question in the negative, did she hesitate before entering the private office?”
“No, sir; she went straight to it.”
“Is there any lettering on the door?”
“Oh, yes, the usual lettering, 'Private Office.'”
“So that, even if she were not acquainted with the place, she might still have seen where to go?”
“Yes, sir. I suppose so.”
“And you stated, too, I believe, that you could have heard no sound of an altercation in the private office, had one occurred?”
“No, sir; I could have heard nothing.”
“You have been with Mr. Holladay a long time, I believe, Mr. Rogers?”
“Over thirty years, sir.”
“And you are intimately acquainted with his affairs?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, Mr. Rogers, have you ever, in all these years, run across anything—any item of expenditure, any correspondence, anything whatever—which would lead you to think that Mr. Holladay was a victim of blackmail?”
“No, sir!” cried the witness. “I should inevitably have found it out had it existed.”
“That will do for the present,” said Mr. Royce. “I shall want to recall the witness, however, sir.”
The office boy was called next, but added nothing to the story.
Then the physicians who had attended the dead man were called, and testified that the blade had penetrated the left carotid artery, and that he had bled to death. It would take, perhaps, ten minutes to produce such an effusion of blood as Rogers had noticed—certainly more than five, so that the blow must have been struck before the woman left the inner office.
The policeman who had responded to the alarm testified that he had examined the windows, and that they were both bolted on the inside, precluding the possibility of any one swinging down from above or clambering up from below. Nothing in the office had been disturbed. Then Miss Holladay's maid was called.
“Was your mistress away from home yesterday afternoon?” asked Goldberg.
“Yes, sir; she had her car ordered for three o'clock. She was driven away shortly after that.”
“What time did she return?”
“About six, sir; just in time to dress for dinner.”
“Did you notice anything unusual in her demeanor when she returned?”
The maid hesitated, fearing doubtless that she might say too much.
“Miss Holladay had complained of a headache in the morning,” she said, after a moment. “She was looking badly when she went out, and the drive made her worse instead of better. She seemed very nervous and ill. I advised her to lie down, but she would not listen. She always dined with her father, and did not wish to disappoint him. She was in a great hurry, fearing that he'd get back before she was ready.”
“There's no doubt in your mind that she was really expecting him?”
“Oh, no, sir; she even went to the door to look for him when he did not come. She seemed very uneasy about him.”
That was one point in our favor certainly.
“That is all. Have you any questions to ask the witness, Mr. Royce?'
“Only one,” said my chief, leaning forward. I knew what it was, and held my breath, wondering whether it were wise to ask it. “Do you remember the gown your mistress wore yesterday afternoon?” he questioned.
“Oh, yes, sir,” and the witness brightened. “It was a dark red broadcloth, made very plain, with only a little narrow black braid for trimming.”