"Oh?" said the examiner. "Let us hear how that came about."
She explained that Furneaux had called to see Mr. Osborne, and, while awaiting his coming in the library, had apparently strolled into the museum. Jenkins, Mr. Osborne's valet, was her informant. It was not evidence, but the statement was out before the court well knew where it was leading. Winter's lip quivered with suppressed agitation, and over Clarke's face came a strange expression of amazement, a stare of utter wonderment widening his eyes, as when one has been violently struck, and knows not by what or whom.
When Hylda Prout stepped down, the coroner invited the officer in charge of the case to explain the curious bit of intelligence given by the last witness.
Furneaux, not one whit disturbed in manner, rose to give his evidence of the incident. Oddly enough, his eyes dwelt all the time, with a dull deadness of expression in them, upon the lowered face of Winter.
It was true, he told the court, that he had called upon Mr. Osborne that evening; it was true that he was asked to wait; and he seemed to remember now that he had wandered through a doorway into a room full of curios to have a look at them in those idle moments.
"So you knew Mr. Osborne before the murder?" inquired the court.
"Yes. I knew him very well by sight and repute, as a man about town, though not to speak to."
"And what was the nature of the business on which you called to see him?"
"It was a purely personal matter."
The coroner paused, with the air of a man who suddenly discovers a morass where he imagined there was a clear road.