"So little that you permitted Mr. Collingwood to stay with you—for quite a long time?"
"Not very long," she answered.
"Until the telephone call from your husband?"
"I suppose so."
Sir Robert Fyffe began to seem very pleased with himself. There was no bitterness in his voice—only an extreme politeness. But by now he kept glancing carefully at the jury, watching them with lightning glances, and gathering all the information he possibly could from the expressions on their faces—their immobility or movements of interest.
"Up to that time," Sir Robert remarked—and his question had really the note of a casual inquiry—"up to that time had he shown any sign of going?"
"I don't think so."
The next query startled the whole court, not so much from its directness—though that was patent enough,—but by reason of the way in which it was rapped out.
It was said in a hard, threatening, staccato voice: "What were you both doing?"
The answer was rather reflective than otherwise. It showed no apprehension of the intention of the examiner.