Without asking permission, Mrs. Merivale rose and went with her charge to the witness chair. She took another chair beside Alma, and her big, hard face looked like a tower of strength, should such be needed.
“You were not at this house on Wednesday evening or night at any time?” the Coroner said. It was more a statement than a question, and it sounded to me as if Hart wanted to shut up this point once and for all.
“No, I was not,” Alma replied, and I hoped nobody except me noticed the quivering of her eyelids.
That was the only way she showed any nervousness. Her hands lay quietly in her lap, her lips were not trembling, her eyes were clear and steady in their gaze, but the eyelids fluttered once, twice, as if she was holding herself together by sheer force of will.
“Where were you that evening?”
“At home, in my own house.”
“All the evening?”
“Yes.”
“Who is your companion?”
“Mrs. Merivale. My housekeeper and friend.”