“When did you see him last?”
The squire thought a moment before answering.
“When did Mrs. Bradstone see him last?” asked Mr. Edgar again.
The squire paused a second.
“On the wedding day.”
Mr. Edgar began to fidget with his brief; his keen eyes veiled by their lids.
“The tidings of the murder were brought into the hall while the wedding party was waiting, and—and my daughter fell in a swoon. She has been ill for some time since—is ill now,” and the poor squire’s voice quavered.
Mr. Edgar inclined his head.
“Be assured, sir,” he said, “that you have my sympathy, and that of all well-intentioned men. But it is my painful duty to ask you more questions. She has not seen Mr. Bradstone since the wedding day?”
“You cannot ask him that; how can he answer it with any certainty?” said Mr. Sewell, as if really his patience at these irregular questions had become exhausted.