“What if I do?” she said, after a momentary pause. But her lips grew white, and I thought she was trying to brave it out.
“Had you a pocket on that evening?”
“Heaven be good to me!” I heard her mutter under her breath. And if ever I saw a woman look frightened nearly to death, Ann Dovey looked it then.
“Had you a pocket on that evening, witness?” repeated the coroner, sharply.
“Y—es.”
“What articles were in it? Do you recollect?”
“It were a key or two,” came the answer at length, her very teeth chattering and all the impudence suddenly gone out of her. “And my thimble, sir;—and some coppers; and a part of a nutmeg;—and—and I don’t remember nothing else, sir.”
“No box of pills? You are sure you had not that?”
“Haven’t I said so, sir?” she rejoined, bursting into a flood of tears. For which, and for the sudden agitation, nobody could see any reason: and perhaps it was only that which made the coroner harp upon the same string. Her demeanour had become suspicious.