So that it seemed now possible to fix the time of Jem’s death at a time between ten minutes to eight, which was about the earliest moment by which he could have reached the spot where he was found, and ten minutes past, which was the time at which the boy, Charles Wallett, had discovered the body.
There was an adjournment for luncheon at this point, and afterward came the supreme sensation of the day—the appearance of Nell Claris as a witness.
Tongues had been busy with her name since the crowd filed out of the court. No one could doubt the import of the questions the coroner had put to Miss Bostal. It was plain that Nell, the only person, except Clifford, who was known to have had any cause of ill-will toward the deceased man, now lay under the suspicion of being concerned in his death.
Perhaps the girl herself, when she came from the magistrate’s room into the court, was the only person present who did not realize the position in which she stood. For she alone had been absent when the searching questions were being put to her friend.
Nell made a bad impression from the very first. She was wrapped up to the eyes in a long, squirrel-lined cloak and a boa of brown fur, and she wore a large hat, which helped to hide even the outline of her face from the crowd in the court behind her. But from the glimpse which could be caught of her features as she moved hurriedly into the place pointed out to her, it was evident that her far-famed beauty was for a time under eclipse, for her complexion was blurred with crying and her blue eyes looked sunken and colorless.
All that seemed to concern her was to hide as much of her face as she could, and to give her answers so that they should be heard by as few persons as possible. Throughout the whole of her evidence she had to be admonished to “speak up,” and to answer at once and straightforwardly, instead of taking time to think out her replies, as she showed a strong disposition to do.
Altogether she was a bad witness, decidedly the worst of them all. Not even nervous Mrs. Mann gave so much trouble. If there had been no breath of suspicion of the girl before she stood in the witness’s place, her manner and her answers would have been sufficient to arouse the feeling in all those who heard and saw her give her evidence.
“You are the niece of Mr. George Claris, I believe? And you were present when the quarrel took place between the deceased and Mr. Clifford King?”
“There was no quarrel. Jem Stickels attacked him. He struck Mr. King with his knife through the window. He stabbed him.”
“And Mr. King struck him back?”