"Hum!" said Durham, digging the point of his pencil into the blotting paper, "so he practically told you the story of Sir Bernard."
"Yes, sir, as I afterwards learned it. And wasn't that natural, sir, seeing he was Sir Bernard?"
"Are you sure he was?"
Jane stared. "Why, sir, he was always frightened when Mrs. Gilroy came down to the kitchen and said she was his enemy, and that if she saw him he could never marry me. I didn't know what he meant at that time, but I see now. She would have said who he was. I used to hide him in cupboards, and once in the coal cellar. Cook and William never told, being sympathetic like!"
"Did he speak in educated manner?"
"Like the gentleman he was, sir, having been educated at Eton."
"When you saw him in the grasp of the policeman did you recognize him? Was he the same man who courted you?"
Jane stared again and looked puzzled. "There isn't two, sir, that I know of," she said; "and now," with a fresh burst of tears, "there isn't one, seeing he is drowned. Oh dear, dear me. Yes, sir, I knew him at once, although the light was bad. And when I would have seen him plainer, Mrs. Gilroy would not let him be brought under the lamp."
"Oh, indeed," said Durham, making a note of this. "Look here," and he held out a large portrait of Bernard, different to that shown at the inquest. "You recognize this, I suppose?"
"That's my Bernard, sir."