"Yes; there is a BESIDES. I'm sure of it."
"I saw the tall figure of a man, whom I afterwards made sure was Mr. Etheridge, coming down Factory Road on his way to the bridge when I turned about to get Reuther."
"All of which you suppressed at the trial."
"I was not questioned on this point, sir."
"Madam,"—he was standing very near to her now, hemming her as it were into that decaying corner—"I should have a very much higher opinion of your candour if you told me the whole story."
"I have, sir."
His hands rose, one to the right hand wall, the other to the left, and remained there with their palms resting heavily against the rotting plaster. She was more than ever hemmed in; but, though she felt a trifle frightened at his aspect which certainly was not usual, she faced him without shrinking and in very evident surprise.
"You went immediately home with the child after that glimpse you got of Mr. Etheridge?"
"Yes; I had no reason in the world to suppose that anything was going to happen in the ravine below us. Of course, I went straight on; there were things to be done at home, and—you don't believe me, sir."
His hands fell; an indefinable change had come over his aspect; he bowed and seemed about to utter an ironic apology. She felt puzzled and unconsciously she began to think. What was lacking in her statement? Something. Could she remember what? Something which he had expected; something which as presiding judge over John's trial he had been made aware of and now recalled to render her story futile. It couldn't be that one little thing—But yes, it might be. Nothing is little where a great crime is concerned. She smiled a dubious smile, then she said: