The witness straightens herself, and the judge, leaning forward, looks at her keenly.
“I must ask you,” he says, but in no unkind tone, “to speak up, madam. Otherwise the jury will not hear you.” He might have added, “And I myself am a little hard of hearing.”
The witness begins in a loud voice:
“Mr. Cheale told me that before we were married he had something to tell me about himself——”
She stops short. Every one is staring at her. What is all this about? Who is Mr. Cheale? By this time every one in Court realizes that he must be related to Agatha Cheale, as Cheale is such an odd name. Also, a good many people know that Agatha Cheale has a brother. Is it conceivable that he gave his sister away? Can it be that Agatha Cheale committed the murder?
Almost alone of all those present, the man in the dock looks uninterested in what is going on. He has become so tired, so utterly weary.
But there is one person in Court—nobody is looking at her—who is almost fainting with excitement and suspense. That person is Jean Bower. Her head is thrown back. She is gazing up into the troubled face of the woman who is in the box just above her.
“He asked me,” goes on the witness, her voice gathering strength, “if I would mind marrying a murderer.”
There is an extraordinary stir, by far the greatest stir there has yet been in that Court.
“I answered him prompt—‘No, not if he was the murderer.’”