“Rub it out,” ordered the coroner, looking over at the stenographer; and the latter, with a smile, ran his pen through the curious hooks and curves that represented the “opinion” of LeGrand Blossom.
He was allowed to leave the stand, and Harry Bartlett was called next. He nodded and smiled at Viola as he walked forward through the crowd, and Captain Poland, who was sitting in front, waved his hand to his rival. For the young men were friends, even if both were in love with Viola Carwell.
“Mr Bartlett,” began the prosecutor, after some unimportant preliminary questions, “I have been informed that you had a conversation with Mr. Carwell shortly before his death. Is that true?”
“Yes, we had a talk.”
Viola started at hearing this—started so visibly that several about her noticed it, and even Colonel Ashley turned his head.
“What was the nature of the talk?” asked Mr. Stryker.
“That I can not tell,” said Bartlett firmly. “But it had nothing to do with the matter in hand.”
There was a rustle of expectancy on hearing this, and the prosecutor quickly asked:
“What do you mean by 'the matter in hand'?”
“Well, his death.”