Mr. M'Arthur looked round the court—with a half glance at the President—and sat down.
As a matter of fact, he had the very gravest doubt as to the possible success of his case. That sleuth-hound, Sir Robert Fyffe, was against him, and the case itself was a thoroughly weak one. He, accomplished barrister, actor, and man of the world as he was, sat down with a quietly suggested air of triumph that impressed every one.
Sir Robert Fyffe rose.
Sir Robert Fyffe was the absolute leader in his own particular line. There was something so red-faced and jolly about him—such a suggestion of friendliness even when he was most deadly,—that the eminence he enjoyed was very well deserved. His voice was mellow; indeed, it was more than that, and had a suggestion of treacle.
He looked at Mrs. Admaston with a bland smile.
"You will, I am sure, admit, Mrs. Admaston, that the events of the 23rd March give ground for very grave suspicion."
Peggy Admaston did not seem at all distressed by this question. Her voice showed the pain that she was enduring, but all her answers to counsel were delivered clearly and openly. They had either a frank innocence about them, or else she was certainly one of the most accomplished actresses and liars of her time.
"Some persons are more suspicious than others," Peggy answered.
"And one would be more justly suspicious of some persons than of others?"
"Yes, perhaps so."