“Did you speak to the prisoner when she came into the lavatory?”
“No.”
“Were not you in the habit of holding a conversation with her upon such occasions?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did you not address her on that night?”
“I was very sleepy, and had nothing in particular to say.”
“But you were not too sleepy to note carefully all the details in the evidence you have just given. You can go,—and to the devil,” he muttered. He thrust his hands into his pockets and wheeled about, looking at Patience with such intensity of gaze that she moved suddenly forward. Her face was pale, but her eyes blazed with rage. Bourke glanced at the clock.
“It is twenty minutes to one,” he said. “I would ask your honour to adjourn until two. I must have time to digest this new testimony. Its remarkable glibness prevented me from giving it the running deliberation that it demanded.”
The judge sulkily dismissed the court. As Patience passed out of the room with Tarbox she heard the word “angel” more than once, and knew that it did not refer to her.
Patience was not conscious of fear as she ate her luncheon. Her heart was black with rage. “I’d willingly murder her,” she thought, “and my conscience wouldn’t trouble me the least little bit.”