“The hand in both cases,” said Dr. Barretti, gravely and pleasantly, “was that of Mrs. Patrick Ives.”
After a long time Mr. Farr said softly, “That is all, Dr. Barretti. Cross-examine.”
And as though it had travelled a great distance and were very tired, the old strange voice that Mr. Lambert had found in the courtroom that afternoon said wearily, “No questions now. Later, perhaps—later—not now.”
The fifth day of the Bellamy trial was over.
Chapter VI
The reporter looked from the clock to the red-headed girl and back again, with an expression in which consternation and irritation were neatly blended. The red-headed girl’s hat was well over one eye, her nose was undeniably pink, she had a fluff of hair over her ear, a fiery spot burning in either cheek and two or more in her eyes. The clock said ten-thirty-five.
“Well, you’re a fine one,” said the reporter in tones that belied the statement. He removed an overcoat, a woolly scarf, a portable typewriter, seven tabloid newspapers, and a gray felt hat from the seat next to him and waited virtuously for appropriate expressions of gratitude. None were forthcoming. The red-headed girl scrambled unceremoniously over his feet, sank into the seat, and abandoned herself to a series of minute but audible pants varied by an occasional subdued sniff.
“What in the world—” began the reporter.
“Don’t speak to me!” said the red-headed girl in a small fierce voice, and added even more fiercely: “What’s happened?”
“That’s what I want to know!” remarked the reporter with some emphasis. “What in the world was that perfectly ungodly racket going on outside in the hall?”