It seemed to Brent that every soul in that place, from the grey-haired chairman on the bench to the stolid-faced official by the witness-box was holding his breath, and that every eye was fastened on Krevin Crood with an irresistible fascination. There was a terrible silence in the court as Krevin paused, terminated by an involuntary sigh of relief as he made signs of speaking again. And, in that instant, Brent saw Mrs. Elstrick, the tall gaunt woman of whom he had heard at least one mysterious piece of news from Hawthwaite, quietly slip out of her place near the outer door and vanish; he saw too that no one but himself saw her go, so absorbed were all others in what was coming.
"When I saw—what I did see," continued Krevin, in a low, concentrated tone, "I went in. The Mayor was lying across his desk, still, quiet. I touched his shoulder—and got blood on my fingers. I knew then what had happened—the woman had snatched up that rapier and run him through. I pulled out my handkerchief—the handkerchief I had taken from Mallett's drawer—wiped my hand, and threw the handkerchief in the fire. Then I took up a mass of papers and a memorandum book which Wallingford had laid down—and went away by the passage. And that's the plain truth! I should never have told it if I hadn't been arrested. I care nothing at all that Wallingford was killed by this woman—not I! I shouldn't have cared if she'd gone scot-free. But if it's going to be my neck or hers, well, I prefer it to be hers. And there you are!"
"Once again," said the chairman, "who was this woman?"
Krevin Crood might have been answering the most casual of casual questions.
"Who?" he replied. "Why—Mrs. Saumarez!"
CHAPTER XXV
THE EMPTY ROOM
B rent was out of his seat near the door, out of the court itself, out of the Moot Hall, and in the market-place before he realized what he was doing. It was a brilliant summer day, and just then the town clocks were striking the noontide; he stood for a second staring about him as if blinded and dazed by the strong sunlight. But it was not the sunlight at all that confused him—though he stood there blinking under it—and presently his brain cleared and he turned and ran swiftly down River Gate, the narrow street that led to the low-lying outer edge of the town. River Gate was always quiet; just then it was deserted. And as he came to half-way down it, he saw at its foot a motor-car, drawn up by the curb and evidently waiting for somebody. The somebody was Mrs. Elstrick, who was hastening towards it. In another second she had sprung in, and the car had sped away in the direction of the open country. And Brent let it go, without another glance in its direction.