“No, I have not,” said the captain, and there was a sharp tone in his answer. “I understood no one was allowed to see him.”
“That is true enough,” agreed Viola. “They wouldn't let me see him, and I wanted to—so much. I presume you know how he comes to be in prison.”
“It isn't exactly a prison.”
“To him it is-and to me,” she said. “But you know how he comes to be there?”
“Yes. I was present at the inquest. By the way, they are to resume it this week, I heard. The chemists have finished their analyses and are ready to testify.”
“Oh, I didn't know that.”
“Yes. But, speaking of Harry—poor chap—it's terrible, of course, but he may be able to clear himself.”
“Clear himself, Captain Poland? What do you mean?” and indignant Viola faced her caller.
“Oh, well, I mean—” He seemed in some confusion.
“I want to know something,” went on Viola. “Did you bring it to the attention of the coroner or the prosecutor that Harry Bartlett saw my father just before-before his death, and quarreled with him? Did you tell that, Captain Poland?”