"No, sir."
At this point Mrs. Arnold, who had sat through each of the three previous days' sessions, arose hurriedly and passed out. Shagarach just caught a glimpse of a lady's back departing, but the vacant seat told its story. He paused in his examination of Harry. It was Mrs. Arnold who had put McCausland on Floyd's track, Mrs. Arnold who had stolen Harry's photographs from Jacob, Mrs. Arnold who had driven up to the house in a carriage, Mrs. Arnold who would naturally deal, through her servants, with a street vender calling at the house.
"A subpoena blank!" he cried suddenly to Aronson. His pen flew over the paper, filling in names and other details.
"Serve that at any cost," he said to his assistant, and Aronson smooched the ink, so eager was he to obey.
"You do not know the peddler?" said Shagarach, taking up the cross-examination.
"No, sir."
"You never saw a peddler in a green cart that used to call at your house in Woodlawn during the month of June?"
"Not to my knowledge. Of course, there are peddlers everywhere and some of them have green carts."
"Wouldn't you regard it as a peculiar circumstance if a particular peddler began calling at your house and your uncle's house about the time your uncle made his will and stopped his visits after the fire?"
"I don't know that I should attach importance to that circumstance. It might be accidental."