“You say then that she and her father can testify that you dined at Hyde Park Gate. Can they also testify that you were given poison?”
“No. They left previous to Himes giving me the whisky.”
“And why did he do it?”
“I think because he mistook me for another man.”
“Poisoned you accidentally, eh?” he said, in doubt.
“Yes.”
“Very well,” he answered, with some reluctance, “I’ll make inquiries of these people. What’s your name and address?”
I told him, and he wrote it down in his pocket-book. Then he left, and so weak was I that the exertions of speaking had exhausted me.
My one thought was of Ella. I cared nothing for myself, but was filled with chagrin that just at the moment when I ought to be active in rescuing her from the trap into which she had fallen I had been reduced to impotence. Through the whole night I lay awake thinking of her. Twice we were disturbed by the police bringing in “accidents,” and then towards morning, tired out, I at length fell asleep.
My weakness was amazing. I could hardly lift my hand from the coverlet, while my brain was muddled so that all my recollections were hazy.