“And you infer—?” persisted the coroner, as Ethel stopped.
“That Mr. Patterson picked up one article and, perhaps driven back by advancing flames, had not time to find the other.”
“What were these articles?”
Ethel stiffened at the question. It was the one she dreaded. Was her secret to be laid bare? Was Julian Barclay to know that she valued his ring and his miniature of her at so high a price that she had sent a man to his death to get them for her? So open a confession of her passionate attachment to him stung her proud and sensitive nature to the quick.
Coroner Penfield gave her no time to consider her answer.
“I must ask you to reply promptly,” he said brusquely, glancing significantly at the wall clock. “You are unnecessarily wasting the time of the court. Quickly now, what were these articles?”
“A ring and a miniature,” she answered confusedly.
“And which article did Mr. Patterson find?”
“The miniature, as the ring was still in the desk drawer.”
“Of whom was the miniature?”