“Yes, sir.”
“Miss Mairs!” he thundered, turning suddenly upon her and pointing a rigid finger straight at her startled face, “are you sure that you were asleep when Mrs. Peele awakened you on the night of Beverly Peele’s death?”
Patience drew her breath sharply. She closed her eyes. Honora had not been asleep that night! The certainty came to her as suddenly and as positively as it had come to Bourke.
For the fraction of a moment Honora hesitated. Every man and woman in the court room was breathless. Several had started to their feet.
“Quite sure,” she replied finally, and that silver shallow voice did not falter.
“You are sure that you heard no one go to the lavatory that night, before Mrs. Peele spoke to you?” He hurled the words at her as the Great Judge might hurl the final sentence on Judgment Day.
“Sure.”
“Was your door open that night?”
“I don’t remember.”
Patience leaned over and whispered to Lansing, who sprang forward and whispered to Bourke.