“After dinner last night,” she replied. Her pause was infinitesimal.
“When did you first learn that he was dead?”
Anne stared at him as the silence lengthened. So swiftly that none guessed his intention, Coroner Penfield reached across the table and took up a sheet of paper on which lay a few hairs.
“These,” he said, “match your hair in color, Miss Meredith.”
Anne looked at the paper and her expression changed to one of horror.
“Where”—she could scarcely articulate—“where did you find them?”
“They were found by Inspector Mitchell wound around the second button on Mr. Meredith’s jacket.” He stopped, then added smoothly, “Inspector Mitchell left several hairs still around the button, and we watched you cleverly remove them before our eyes when the body was being carried past your door on a stretcher.”
Anne never took her gaze from his face. The coroner was the first to speak. “Come, Miss Meredith, suppose you tell us where you were when John Meredith was murdered.”
Twice Anne tried to speak, but no sound passed her dry lips.
“I—I”—again she stopped, then gathering courage in the stillness—“I have nothing to say.”