“Have you any reason to suppose, Miss Laing, that Mr Ogle’s declaration of love to you had aroused the enmity of Mr Deedes?” asked the man, seriously.
“No,” she answered in a tone so low that I could scarcely distinguish the word.
“Mr Deedes was your lover, wasn’t he?”
“I am still engaged to him,” she replied, tears welling in her eyes. “He tells a falsehood when he says that our love is at an end.”
“Then why did you not tell him of Mr Ogle’s declaration?”
“Because they were friends, and I did not wish to arouse animosity between them.”
Slight applause followed this reply, but it was instantly suppressed.
The Coroner, to bring matters to a conclusion, asked, “Now, knowing Mr Ogle as intimately as you did, do you suspect that he might have been murdered?”
She gasped, swayed slowly forward and gripped the corner of the baize-covered table to steady herself.
“Yes,” she answered in a clear but tremulous voice. “I—I believe he was murdered.”