"Yes," Sir Robert said, "and with Mr. Collingwood's too, my lord—though, I regret to say, with no result."
He turned from the judge to Peggy. "And can't you help us, Mrs. Admaston?" he concluded.
"No, not from the envelope," Peggy answered.
"It is a most peculiar handwriting," the judge observed, leaning back in his seat.
Sir Robert continued his cross-examination. "Now, Mrs. Admaston," he said, "remember that that letter was in the hands of your husband just after three o'clock on 23rd March. Now, will you be so good as to read it?"
"Out loud?"
"Oh no. Read it to yourself."
There was dead silence in the court as with trembling hands the girl took the letter from the envelope and began to read it. All the spectators, those engaged in the case, and several members of the jury knew that the dramatic moment of all had arrived. There had been many dramatic moments, but this was to be the culminating one.
The excitement was intense, and, when Peggy suddenly gave a little cry, there was a low murmur of sound. She cried out loudly, sharply, as if in pain, while the judge and jury regarded her intently. Then she bent forward over the letter again and appeared to re-read it.
Suddenly she lifted her head and turned desperately to the President. "Oh! my lord, this is infamous!" she cried.