It was generally understood that the girl Nelly was about to make her appearance, and everybody was on the tip-toe of expectation.
Wan and pale, and the very personification of sorrow, the unhappy girl was now brought in by two female attendants and the police inspector.
She was placed in the space set apart for the witnesses, and seemed to be so overcome that all present were under the impression that she was about to swoon. She bore up, however, in a manner which surprised everybody.
“Your name is Ellen Fulford, I believe?” said the clerk.
“Yes, sir,” she returned, in a voice which was scarcely audible to any one save those who were in close proximity to the speaker.
“Now, don’t be alarmed, Miss Fulford,” said the coroner, in a kind tone. I do not doubt but this is a painful ordeal for you to go through. We will not ask needless questions or protract it longer than may be absolutely requisite. Take your time in replying to the few interrogations we have to put.”
Nell bent her head in acknowledgment of the consideration shown towards her, and the examination proceeded.
She was asked if she saw Mr. Philip Jamblin on the night of the murder, and replied in the affirmative.
She gave a long account of her conversation with him, which took place near the workshop at one time in the occupation of Charles Peace.
Then a juryman inquired if Peace now resided in the neighbourhood.