“You are a ready hand at making assertions, Mrs. Tretheroe! You calmly assert they met. What! at four o’clock in the morning—at Markenmore Hollow?”
Mrs. Tretheroe looked round. Up to then she had confined her occasional glances to the Coroner and the jury, but this time she took a comprehensive view of the crowded room. And as she turned to face Mr. Walkinshaw again, it was with a smile that signified contempt for his insinuation.
“I know that John Harborough was up there at Markenmore Hollow at four o’clock that morning,” she retorted boldly. “And, I know, too, that he was seen!”
Walkinshaw paused, abruptly. He looked round at his client; so, too, did everybody in the room. Once more a murmur of surprise rippled round. Walkinshaw went back to Harborough, who sat unmoved and silent; the solicitor whispered rapidly to him; Harborough did no more than nod, almost unconcernedly. A moment later Mrs. Tretheroe had been dismissed from the witness-box and another witness had been called into it.
“Elizabeth Braxfield!”
Mr. Fransemmery and his eleven companions felt a new interest arise in their hearts as they stared at the ex-landlady of the Sceptre. Eleven of them were already wondering what she could tell. But Mr. Fransemmery, knowing what he did of Mrs. Braxfield’s early habits, began to anticipate.
The Coroner left the examination of this witness to the barrister who appeared for the police authorities. He lost no time in getting to the point.
“I believe, Mrs. Braxfield, that you were formerly Mrs. Wrenne, of the Sceptre Inn, and that before you were Mrs. Wrenne, you were a Miss Rawlings, a daughter of Thomas Rawlings, who kept the Sceptre Inn before your late husband, Peter Wrenne, had it?”
“Quite correct, sir,” answered Mrs. Braxfield.
“Then you have lived all your life in Markenmore, and know all the people in it?”