The crowd pressed as close as they could to the witness-box, that they might not lose a word of this never-to-be-forgotten evidence.
“Do you know where he is?” asked Mr. Edgar, still with deep respect.
Olivia shook her head.
“I do not.”
Mr. Edgar paused a moment; the faint light which he thought he had descried seemed fading, and leading him nowhere.
“Did you ever hear Mr. Bradstone allude to Bella-Bella, the deceased?” he asked, in the vague hope that the question might lead to something, some new thread or clew to the mystery. For he was more than ever convinced that Faradeane was not guilty, and that if he—Mr. Edgar—could gain time, he could succeed in proving his client’s innocence.
“Never,” said Olivia.
“Have you received any communication from Mr. Bradstone in reference to this murder?” he asked.
All eyes were fixed upon her, and all saw her wince and shrink.
“You have?” said Mr. Edgar, prompt to mark every change of expression in her eloquent face. “Answer, please. Remember your oath, remember that a man’s life—Lord Clydesfold’s life—is hanging by a thread.”