“At five before ten.”
“Was he alone?”
“No; with him there was a lady.”
“Did you recognize her?”
“Yes, sair, I have recognize’ her.”
“Who was this lady, Orsini?”
“This lady, sair, was Miz’ Patrick Ives.”
At those words, pronounced with exactly their proper dramatic inflection by that lover of the drama, Mr. Luigi Orsini, every head in the courtroom pivoted to the spot where Mrs. Patrick Ives sat with the autumn sun warming her hair to something better than gold. And quite oblivious to the ominous inquiry in those straining eyes, she turned toward Stephen Bellamy, meeting his startled eyes with a small, rueful smile, lifted brows and a little shake of the head that came as near to saying “I told you so” as good sportsmanship permitted.
“You are quite positive of that?”
“Oh, without one single doubt.”