As the solicitor stood on the doorstep under the portico bidding Jerry O'Brien good-evening, he saw the two men, who looked like stable-helpers, go up to Tom Blake and speak to him. He had noticed these men during the day, and when he saw them speak to Blake, he knew what their business with him was.
On a motion from one of the two, a cab drew up a little way from the door of the inn. Tom Blake and the two men got into it, and the cab drove off. Then Pringle went back into the inn, spoke a few words to the police inspector, and sent up word to Mrs. Davenport that he and the carriage were ready.
In a few minutes she came down, looking as calm and impassible as ever. With some commonplace remarks about the rain, he handed her in, and then took his seat beside her.
For a while they drove in perfect silence. She broke it by asking what had occurred since she left the room downstairs.
He briefly told her the substance of Blake's evidence, softening down the sentimental portions as far as they had relation to herself, but setting forth fully and fairly the salient points of his history.
She listened without a word. She had heard the coroner say the inquiry would not close that day. She therefore knew nothing final was to be decided immediately. But although Pringle knew she was aware of this, he was surprised that upon his ending she said nothing, made no comment, seemed but sparingly interested, although she listened with attention. At last he thought best to volunteer something.
"I am afraid," he said, "that although we may be able to corroborate every word of Mr. Blake's, as far as facts are concerned, his hypothesis will not have much influence with the jury."
"Why?"
"Did you know Mr. Blake got money from Mr. Davenport on the very night of the 17th?"
In the darkness of the carriage here, he was free from the spell of her beauty, and spoke in a purely professional tone.