The reply came slowly, as though speaking were great pain.
“I been sick in dis bed now t’ree day an’ night.”
“We been settin’ wid she, nursin’ she, all dat time,” one of the women said.
And the other supplemented, “Dat de Gawd’ trut’.”
“You would swear to that?” asked the Coroner.
Three voices answered in chorus:
“Yes, Boss, we swear tuh dat.”
“There you are,” said the Coroner to the plain-clothes man, “an air-tight alibi.”
The detective regarded him for a moment with supreme contempt. Then he stepped forward and jerked the sheet from Serena’s face, which lay upon the pillow as immobile as a model done in brown clay.
“You know damn well that you were out yesterday!” he snapped. “I have a good mind to get the wagon and carry you in.”