Part 43 (1/2)
”You are,” answered the conductor.
”Open your eyes. Which of these two men spoke to you?” asked s.h.a.garach. Robert stood up beside his cousin. The resemblance was indeed striking. Both were about the same height and both strongly marked with the peculiarities of kindred blood. The conductor turned from one to the other.
”Very well,” said s.h.a.garach. ”It is the face of Jacob, but the voice of Esau. For the present, that will do.”
”Miss Senda Wesner.”
While the bakeshop girl was pus.h.i.+ng her way forward from the back seat which she had occupied, Sire, who was squeezed where he lay, gravely arose, climbed the vacated witness-box and spread his great limbs out, majestically contemplating the spectators.
”This is the one eyewitness of the crime,” said the district attorney.
”But unfortunately dumb,” added s.h.a.garach. Just then an impulse seized Emily, who had left the cage for a moment--Emily, the most shrinking of girls--and catching a large waste-basket which stood under the lawyers' desks to receive the litter that acc.u.mulates in trials, she stood up and shoved it toward the dog.
To everybody's surprise, he scrambled to his feet in alarm, backed hastily away and barked continuously at the harmless object. Then before the whole court, judges, jury and all, Emily clapped her hands and gave a girlish shriek of delight--only to sink in her place afterward, as the spectators smiled, and hide her blushes behind her fan. But it was some little while before Sire would let her pat him.
”You work opposite the Arnold house, Miss Wesner?” asked the district attorney.
”Directly opposite. I can look right over into their windows,” said Senda.
”But I hope you don't.”
”Well, I try not to, but sometimes, you know, you can't resist the inclination,” chattered the bakeshop girl.
”You can always try.”
”Oh, I do try, but you know----”
”Yes, I know. We all know. At what hour did you see Floyd coming out of his house on the afternoon of the fire?”
”The fire was going before 3:30, because I saw it. And I'll swear Mr. Floyd left the house at least four minutes, probably five, before.”
”Walking to the right or to the left?”
”To my right, his left,” answered Senda, glibly.
”And the flames broke out shortly after he went out?”
”Well, of course----” began the witness, all primed with an argument.
”Please answer yes or no.”
”No--I mean yes.”
”You heard the explosion?”
”Heard it? Why----”
”Where did it appear to come from?”
”It came from Prof. Arnold's study, as plain as your voice comes from you, but I don't see----”
”That will do,” said the district attorney, handing the witness over to s.h.a.garach.
”What do you say to my sketch of this Hebe?” asked Ecks.
”The drawing would be creditable in a gingerbread doll,” answered Wye.
They were a sorry pair of lookers-on, both of them, appearing to regard the whole panorama of creation as a sort of a.r.s.enal of happy suggestions, especially established by Providence for the embellishment of their forthcoming works. But Hans Heiderman in his back seat didn't think she appeared homely at all in her red-checked dress and flaming hair, done up in Circa.s.sian coils. Of course he was looking at the soul of the girl, which was better than gold, and which neither Ecks nor Wye, for all their wise smiles, the least bit understood.
”You are rather accurate in your observations of time?” asked s.h.a.garach.
”Oh, yes; I'm noted for that. I haven't looked at the clock for an hour, but I could tell you what time it is now.”
”Shut your eyes and tell me.”
”It is--about seventeen minutes past 4.”
”Seventeen and a half,” announced s.h.a.garach, taking out his watch. Every man in the room, except the judges, had done likewise, while the ladies all studied the clock.
”Very good. At what time would you fix the explosion in the study?”
”About 3:34.”
”One minute earlier, then, than District Chief Wotherspoon. Now, Miss Wesner, do you recollect anything about a peddler in a green cart that used to come to Prof. Arnold's?”
”Oh, that peddler. Yes, indeed, I----”
”How long had he been vending his goods through Cazenove street?”
”About a month. I know I never----”
”Had you seen him before that?”
”Never saw him before in my life, but----”
”How often did he come by?”
”Two or three times a week.”
She had almost given up the attempt to work in her explanations edgewise. The rapid volley of questions prevented all elaboration.
”How often did he stop at Prof. Arnold's?”
”Almost every time.”
”Was it Bertha who came to the door?”