The ripples broke into little waves. Ten o’clock—ten——
“Silence!” banged Judge Carver’s gavel.
“Silence!” sang Ben Potts.
“Please tell us what you were doing at Orchards during that hour.”
“It was considerably less than an hour. Mr. Conroy had telephoned me shortly before dinner, asking me to leave the keys at the cottage, which I gladly agreed to do, as I had been intending for some time to get some old account books I had left in my desk at the main house. I didn’t notice the exact time at which I left Lakedale, but it must have been about half-past eight, as we dine at half-past seven, and I smoked a cigar before I started. I drove over at a fair rate of speed—around thirty-five miles an hour, say—and went straight to the main house.”
“You did not stop at the gardener’s cottage?”
“No; I——”
“Yet you pass it on your way from the lodge to the house, don’t you?”
“No, coming from Lakedale I use the River Road; the first entrance off the road leads straight from the back of the place to the main house; the lodge gates are at the opposite end of the place on the main road from Rosemont. Shall I go on?”
“Certainly.”