“Are you very angry?” she whispered. He kissed her.
“No, darling, not angry, but just a little pained. It was an unpleasing record for your eyes. There, now. Give me some tea, and we’ll talk about it. You may have formed some mistaken notions. Tell me what you thought of it all. In any case, Elsie, why were you crying?”
“I was so sorry for that poor woman. And why did the Coroner believe she killed her husband, when Mr. Pickering said she had not touched him?”
The vicar saw instantly that the girl had missed the more unpleasing phases of the tragedy. He smiled again.
“Bring me the paper,” he said. “I was present at the inquest. Perhaps the story is somewhat garbled.”
She obeyed. He cast a critical glance over the leaded columns, for the weekly newspaper had given practically a verbatim report of the evidence, and there was a vivid description of the scene in the schoolroom, with its dramatic close.
“It is by no means certain, from the evidence tendered, that the Coroner is right,” said Mr. Herbert slowly. “In these matters, however, the police are compelled to sift all statements thoroughly, and the only legal way is to frame a charge. Although Mrs. Pickering may be tried for murder, it does not follow that she will be convicted.”
“But,” questioned Elsie, “Martin Bolland said he heard her crying out that she had killed Mr. Pickering?”
“He may have misunderstood.”