"Why, of course, sir," Stevens went on, as if absolutely unconscious that his words were creating a sensation. "That is the lady whom I saw with Mr. Delahay that night. I daresay she will tell you herself when she comes to give evidence."
"One moment, please," the coroner went on. "How long is it since you identified the lady opposite?"
The witness looked about him as if he hardly understood the question. He was clearly puzzled by what had happened.
"As a matter of fact," he said, "I did not see her till the last few moments. You see, sir, I took her for a witness like myself. I cannot say any more than that."
The coroner murmured something to the effect that there must be a mistake here. Then he turned to the witness again.
"This is a most important investigation," he said, "and I want you to be very careful. Will you look at the lady again and see if you have not made a mistake? Surely you were in court when she gave her evidence. You must have seen her then."
"Indeed, I didn't, sir," the witness protested. "I did not come into court until my name was called outside."
The coroner turned sharply to Mrs. Delahay and asked her to be good enough to stand up. She rose slowly and deliberately, and turned her head in the direction of Stevens. A ray of light fell upon her features; they were absolutely dull and expressionless, as if all the life had gone out of her; as if she failed utterly to comprehend what was going on around her. It was only natural that she should have dissented vigorously from Stevens' statement. She regarded him without even the suggestion of a challenge in her eyes. As a matter of fact, the man was making a serious charge against her--a charge of wilful perjury at the very least, and yet, so far as she was concerned, Stevens did not even appear to exist.
"Well, what do you make of it?" the coroner asked.
"Just as I told you before," the witness went on. "I saw that lady with Mr. Delahay at a quarter past one on the morning of the murder. I saw her enter the house in Fitzjohn Square."