“Yes. The jury wish to see it open.”
Mark untied the bow and pulled it off, his very freckles showing out red. It was a three-cornered silk neckerchief, as green as grass.
“Was this like the kerchief you saw being swung about, Harry Dance?” asked the coroner, holding it up, and then letting it drop on the table.
Harry Dance gazed at it as it lay, and shook his head. “I don’t think it were the one, sir,” he said.
“Why don’t you think it?”
“That there looks smaller and brighter, and t’other was bigger and darker. Leastways, I think it were.”
“Was it more like this?” interrupted Dr. Teal, shaking out his handkerchief from his pocket.
“I don’t know, sir. It seemed like a big handkerchief, and was about that there colour o’ your’n.”
Some inquiry was made at this point as to the neckerchiefs worn by the other boys. It turned out that two or three had worn very large ones, something the colour of Dr. Teal’s. So that passed.
“One word, Harry Dance. Did you see Ferrar with his handkerchief off that day?”