Elinor Benton was one of the last witnesses to be examined at the inquest into the death of Templeton Druid. She took the stand, trembling, nervous, and in an apparently dazed condition. She stumbled and faltered over her answers. More than once she had to be reprimanded sharply.
John Hammond was thoroughly exasperated. He knew so well the workings of the girl’s mind. But he saw that the face of every juryman bore a look of pity as he took in the pitiful little figure in black with the sad eyes and the distress over the death of the man she loved so evident, though as evidently torn between that love and the love she felt for her own brother, who had been the cause of the tragedy.
True, Elinor Benton was being true to her promise. She was telling the truth, but as each word came from her tight lips as though forced, telling glances passed between the newspapermen seated at the long table in the center of the room, scribbling for dear life. This was a story something like, those glances said! Aside from Hammond and Howard himself, not one in that packed court room (for the inquest had brought out an eager crowd of morbid curiosity seekers to dip into this scandal which touched the lives of those of high estate) could even guess at the double meaning that was in each word that fell hesitatingly from the society beauty’s lips.
Hammond realized that the best he could do for Howard was to cut short Elinor’s testimony as quickly as possible. But he was not quicker than she. In a moment she had grasped his intention. She wavered for a second, then both hands went to her face and her head bowed forward as she wept silently for a moment. Then she looked up, and it was with stricken eyes and the bewildering despair of a child who did not understand that she hurled the bomb that she knew would bring both brother and mother into the dust. For a moment there was an awed silence. The furious scribbling of the newspaper men could be heard. One of them half stood up as he beckoned to a messenger boy in back of him.
“Here!” he whispered in a rasping voice that cut the stillness. “Shoot this along for the extra. Tell the boss it’s the head!”
From where he stood facing the witness chair, John Hammond caught a glance at the letters that sprawled across the one sheet of copy paper.
SOCIETY GIRL’S TESTIMONY CONVICTS BROTHER
Without another question, John Hammond sat down. The girl had beaten him. For, in that moment of dueling, when the fate of her brother had trembled in the balance, Elinor Benton had looked up with those stricken eyes, those bewildered eyes of a child who did not understand, and her arms had gone out toward her father pleadingly as she wailed; half choked:
“Oh, Daddy! Daddy! I can’t say any more! Please, please, don’t let them ask me any more! I—I—don’t want to incriminate Howard! You warned me to be careful, but you see, they are forcing me to speak!”
At the harsh command of the coroner, Hugh Benton was compelled to explain that his only warning to Elinor had been that she be absolutely truthful.