Edgar was handed a stick with which he pointed out the two doors of his uncle’s room and those of his own.
What was coming?
“Mr. Bartholomew, will you now tell the jury what you did on returning to your room?”
“Nothing. I threw myself into a chair and just waited.”
“Waited for what?”
“To hear my cousin enter my uncle’s room.”
The bitterness with which he said this was so deftly hidden under an assumption of casual rejoinder, as only to be detected by one who was acquainted with every modulation of his fine voice.
“And did you hear this?”
“Very soon; as soon as he could come up from the lower hall where Clarke, my uncle’s man, had been sent to summon him.”
“If you heard this, you must also have heard when he left your uncle’s room.”