“Never!—nor of him!”
“For seven years you neither saw him, nor heard of him, nor heard from him. When did you next see him again?”
“On Monday evening last—two—or three—days ago.”
“You met him—for the first time for seven years?”
“Yes, for the first time for seven years.”
“Just tell me, Mrs. Tretheroe, how the meeting came about?”
Mrs. Tretheroe folded her hands on the ledge of the witness-box and distributed her glances alternately between the Coroner and the twelve jurymen. By that time she had regained her colour; her eyes had begun to sparkle; she looked as if she was beginning to feel some extraordinary interest in the proceedings.
“In this way,” she said, in quiet, even tones. “During Monday evening, after dinner, I had occasion to give some orders to my coachman, Burton. When he was going away, he mentioned that he had just seen Mr. Guy Markenmore; he had seen him, he said, going up to the Court. I thought Burton must be mistaken, but he was positive—and, of course, I knew he had known Guy since boyhood. So——”
Here Mrs. Tretheroe paused. Her fingers began to tap the ledge before her; she looked at the Coroner and the jury with a slightly embarrassed expression.
“What happened, if you please?” asked the Coroner in matter-of-fact tones.