'You shall speak in your turn,' said the chairman, 'and no doubt you will be able to give us valuable evidence, but you must not interrupt, you understand.' Then, turning to the witness, and chuckling and becoming purple with his suppressed laughter, the chairman said, 'Very well, Mr. Drownlands, go on. We commend your taste. You were talking with your pretty companion, or lodger.'
A laugh ran through the court, in which all joined save the clerical members of the bench, who looked grave and shook their heads.
Zita coloured, and looked about her angrily. Mark's face was pale, and his eyes were lowered.
'I was talking with her in my office,' continued Drownlands, 'when the mob entered my stackyard with torches, and threatened to burn my ricks and break into my house. Mark Runham was with them.'
'Did he threaten you?'
'A great many voices were raised. I could not distinguish one from another. There was a waggon, and Aaron Chevell, Harry Tansley, and Isaac Harley were in it, and Tansley held a gun.'
'Never mind about Tansley now. I see in your deposition that Mark Runham entered your house. Was it so?'
'Yes. He came to my door and knocked. Then Zita let him in.'
'But,' interrupted the chairman, 'what you say now, witness, is not in agreement with your information. You deposed that he had feloniously entered your house.'
'He came to ask for money.'