“Well, sir, what is the difference in the length of those skeletons?” inquired Dunscomb.
“I make it about an inch and a half, if these marks are to be relied on,” was the slow, cautious, well-considered reply.
“Do you now say that you believe these skeletons to be the remains of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin?”
“Whose else can they be? They were found on the spot where the old couple used to sleep.”
“I ask you to answer my question; I am not here to answer yours. Do you still say that you believe these to be the skeletons of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin?”
“I am a good deal non-plussed by this measurement—though the flesh, and skin, and muscles, may have made a considerable difference in life.”
“Certainly,” said Williams, with one of his withering sneers—sneers that had carried many a cause purely by their impudence and sarcasm—“Every one knows how much more muscle a man has than a woman. It causes the great difference in their strength. A bunch of muscles, more or less in the heel, would explain all this, and a great deal more.”
“How many persons dwelt in the house of Goodwin at the time of the fire?” demanded Dunscomb.
“They tell me Mary Monson was there, and I saw her there during the fire; but I never saw her there before.”
“Do you know of any other inmate besides the old couple and the prisoner?”