“Did you buy some peaches for Miss Baird?”
“Deed, I didn’t, Sah. Miss Susan hadn’t no money to buy peaches at dis time o’ year,” Oscar’s voice expressed astonishment. “Dis hyar month am March.”
“We have them from California.” Penfield was growing impatient, and his manner stiffened as he faced the old negro. “Who purchased the peaches which Miss Baird was eating just before she died?”
“I dunno, Sah; honest to God, I dunno.” Oscar shook a puzzled head. “I was flabbergasted to see them peaches on the tea table. They weren’t in the house when I was gettin’ dinner, an’ they weren’t there when I left after servin’ dinner.”
“Is that so?” Penfield stared at Oscar. The black face of the negro was as shiny as a billiard ball and about as expressionless. “That is all, Oscar, you may retire.”
Hardly waiting for the servant to descend the steps, Penfield turned to the deputy coroner whose busy pen had been transcribing the notes of the inquest.
“Dr. Fisher, take the stand,” he directed, and waited in silence while he was being sworn.
“You performed the autopsy, Doctor?” he asked.
“I did, Sir, in the presence of the Morgue Master and Dr. Leonard McLean,” responded the deputy coroner.
“State the results of the autopsy.”