The third day of the Bellamy trial was over.
Chapter IV
“Well, this is the time you beat me to it,” commented the reporter approvingly. “That’s the hat I like too. Want a pencil?”
“I always want a pencil,” said the red-headed girl. “And I beat everybody to it. I’d rather get here at six o’clock than go through that howling mob of maniacs one single time more. Besides, I’ve been sleeping, so I might as well be here. Besides, I thought that if I got here early you might tell me whether it was Mr. Ives or Mr. Farwell who did it.”
“Who did what?”
“Who killed Mrs. Bellamy.”
“Oh, Lord!” groaned the reporter. “Why is it that every mortal soul at a murder trial spends his life trying to pin the crime on to anyone in the world but the people being tried for it. Talk about juries!”
“I’m not talking about juries,” said the red-headed girl firmly. “I’m talking about Mr. Farwell, and Mr. Ives. Don’t you think that it was funny that Mr. Farwell was there that day?”
“Oh, comical as all get out! Still and all, I believe that he was there precisely when he said he was. That poor devil was telling the truth.”
“How do you know?” inquired the red-headed girl respectfully.