"Pray, madam," said I, "is your name Wareing or Tucker?"
She did not answer, and I repeated the question. "Tucker," she at last replied in a tremulous whisper.
"I thought so. And pray, Mrs. Tucker, were you ever 'in trouble' in
London for robbing your lodgings?"
I thought she attempted to answer, but no sound passed her lips. One of the ushers of the court handed her a glass of water at my suggestion, and she seemed to recover somewhat. I pressed my question; and at last she replied in the same low, agitated voice, "Yes, I have been."
"I know you have. Mr. Silas Thorndyke, I believe, was your bail on that occasion, and the matter was, I understand, compromised—arranged—at all events the prosecution was not pressed. Is not that so?"
"Yes—no—yes."
"Very well: either answer will do. You lived also, I believe, with Mr. Thorndyke, as his housekeeper of course, when he was in business as a concocter and vender of infallible drugs and pills?"
"Yes."
"He was held to be skilful in the preparation of drugs, was he not—well-versed in their properties?"
"Yes—I believe so—I do not know. Why am I asked such questions?"