“I’m sure she’ll get up, sir. Will you please come this way?”
Very different from James Kentworthy was the man whom the doctor greeted a moment later. He was tall and thin, with a clever stern face.
“My name is Fradelle, Dr. Maclean. And it is my duty to take from you and from Miss Jean Bower the statements which will be used by the Crown in the forthcoming inquiry concerning the death of Mrs. Emily Garlett.”
“I will, of course, put all the information in my power before you,” answered the doctor quietly. “But is it really necessary that you should take a statement from my niece?”
“Most certainly it is. I understand that Miss Bower is in bed. That does not mean, I presume, that you consider her too ill to give me a statement to-day?”
“No,” said Dr. Maclean, “I could not honestly say that. But the girl is terribly distressed, Mr. Fradelle.” He hesitated and then added, “She believes Mr. Garlett to be absolutely innocent.”
“So I understand,” said the other dryly.
An hour later, Dr. Maclean, getting out of the chair where he had sat while he was being interrogated, exclaimed, “I will fetch my niece, Mr. Fradelle.”
The early morning mist had cleared away; it was a brilliant sunny day, so brilliant as to seem to mock the doctor’s feeling of despondency and distress.
Every question put to him had seemed deadly in its import—how different from that first interrogation from James Kentworthy!