Penfield considered her answer before addressing her again.
“Why didn't Mr. Turnbull tell you who he was when you had him arrested?” he asked.
Helen shrugged her shoulders. “I cannot answer that question, for I do not know his reason. If he had only confided in me”—her voice shook—“he might have been alive to-day.”
“How so?” Penfield shot the question at her.
“Because then he would have been spared the additional excitement of his trip to the police station and the scene in court, which brought on his attack of angina pectoris.”
Penfield regarded her for a moment in silence.
“I have no further questions, Miss McIntyre,” he said, and turned to the morgue master. “Ask Miss Barbara McIntyre to come to the platform.” Turning back to his table and the papers thereon he failed to see the twins pass each other in the aisle. They were identically attired and when Coroner Penfield looked again at the witness chair, he stared in surprise at its occupant.
“I beg pardon, Miss McIntyre, I desire your sister to testify,” he remarked.
“I am Barbara McIntyre.” A haunting quality in her voice caught Kent's attention, and he leaned eagerly forward, his eyes following each movement of her nervous fingers, busily twisting her gloves inside and out.
“I beg your pardon,” exclaimed the coroner, recovering from his surprise. He had seen the twins at the police court on Tuesday morning for a second only, and then his attention had been entirely centered on Helen. He had heard, but had not realized until that moment, how striking was the resemblance between the sisters.