Then he is made to narrate at length the circumstances of Mrs. Garlett’s death—how he was fetched by the sick woman’s husband, such a thing having never happened before—how Garlett showed a strange unwillingness to go upstairs, and how the witness then, proceeding alone through the sleeping house, suddenly encountered the parlour-maid, Lucy Warren. Finally, how, after a short colloquy with Miss Cheale, he turned his attention to the sick woman and discovered that she was dead.
The doctor makes it clear that, to the best of his belief, Mrs. Garlett was already dead when he arrived at the house; and then he explains somewhat haltingly why it was that he then made up his mind that his patient had died from heart failure.
In the course of his evidence Dr. Maclean has naturally mentioned Agatha Cheale several times, and so, at the end of the doctor’s cross-examination and re-examination, the judge leans forward and asks Sir Almeric: “Are you going to call Miss Cheale now?” And Sir Almeric says, no, he is not going to call Miss Cheale yet. He would prefer to call certain witnesses who will testify as to the relations between the prisoner and Miss Bower both before and after Mrs. Garlett’s death.
Five people then follow one after the other into the box—three men and two women. The two women each declare that they thought it very strange that a pretty young lady should be made secretary of the company, and one of them, a forewoman, identifies a letter she had written to her sister containing the strangely prophetic sentence: “If anything was to happen to the missus, I should never be surprised if Miss B. became his second.”
An overseer at the factory swears that as early as October 1st—he remembers the date because it was his birthday—he told his wife that he hadn’t a doubt that “the boss was sweet on Miss Bower.” But he asserts that he had also expressed surprise because he had never noticed anything of the kind before Mr. Garlett went away.
That fact is eagerly taken hold of by Sir Harold Anstey, and there follows a keen cross-examination. The great advocate makes some facetious remarks on love and on love-making generally, and the Court for the first time enjoys what perhaps Sir Harold would describe as “a little fun.”
Titters even come from the witnesses’ bench, but Miss Prince looks severe, almost disgusted, and as for Jean Bower, the girl becomes even paler than she was before. The prisoner in the dock looks straight before him while all this goes on—he might be carved in stone.
“Call Miss Agatha Cheale!”
The words ring through the court, and a thickly veiled figure walks quickly round to the steps leading to the witness-box. But as she puts her second foot upon the ladder-like steps she trips and would have fallen but for one of the Court officials, who seizes her arm and pulls her to her feet again.
Miss Cheale is sworn and throws back her veil at the judge’s bidding. She, too, is then taken through the story of the death night. To the surprise of many of those present she speaks in a composed, almost mincing, voice. She is asked what happened the afternoon before Mrs. Garlett’s sudden death, and in reply she tells what has come to be called the “strawberry story”—that is, she explains how the strawberries were left by Miss Prince, how she put them on a plate outside Mrs. Garlett’s door immediately after luncheon, and then, how, late in the afternoon, having occasion to go upstairs, she distinctly saw a strange man making his way quickly down the passage.