"Yes," said Chard, dryly; "she was strangled, and her body was hidden in the thick of the standing corn. A very clever method of concealment. I don't think I ever heard of a cornfield being used for such a purpose before. Moreover," and Mr. Inspector leaned forward, "the body has been robbed."
"Robbed!"
"Yes--the pearls, you know."
"The pearls?" repeated Johnson, vacantly. "Oh yes, the pearls. But what are they--what is anything compared with her death? Oh! I loved her, how I loved her! And she is dead!" He leaned his head on his hands and wept.
Chard was becoming a trifle impatient. The man was in such a state of mental excitement and physical debility, that it seemed unlikely he would prove of much use--at present, at all events. Still, he was the person of all others from whom details regarding the past life of the dead girl could best be learned; and in her past life might be found a motive sufficiently strong to lead to some clue. Ever prepared for emergencies, Chard produced a flask of brandy from his pocket, and pouring a little of it into a cup, handed it to Johnson. As the odour of the spirit struck his nostrils, the minister recoiled with a look of disgust.
"I am an abstainer," said he, waving it away.
"That may be," rejoined Chard, imperturbably; "but you are all broken up and weak now. 'A little wine for the stomach's sake,' as St. Paul says. You can hardly go against St. Paul, sir. Drink it," he added, sharply. "I insist upon your drinking it."
"You have no right to speak to me in that way, Mr. Chard."
"I have the right of a Jack-in-office," retorted the inspector. "I wish to learn all about this woman. You can supply the information I require, though at present you are hardly fit to do so. Drink the brandy, I say, and pull yourself together."
"I am quite able to answer your questions without the aid of alcohol, thank you," replied Johnson, in so dignified a tone that the officer did not press him further. "What is it you seek to know?"