III

Sir Samuel Attenbury. A sick beating at one’s heart. Now—now she was at the mercy of anenemy! No more gentleness, no more questions to which she knew the answers!

But he began quite mildly.

“You were engaged to be married, you have told us, to Mr. Roderick Welman?”

“Yes.”

“You were fond of him?”

“Very fond.”

“I put it to you that you were deeply in love with Roderick Welman and that you were wildlyjealous of his love for Mary Gerrard?”

“No.” (Did it sound properly indignant, that “no?”)Sir Samuel said menacingly:

“I put it to you that you deliberately¹ planned to put this girl out of the way, in the hope thatRoderick Welman would return to you.”

“Certainly not.” (Disdainful—a little weary. That was better.)The questions went on. It was just like a dream…a bad dream … a nightmare ….

Question after question … horrible, hurting questions… Some of them she was prepared for,some took her unawares….

Always trying to remember her part. Never once to let go, to say:

“Yes, I did hate her… Yes, I did want her dead… Yes, all the time I was cutting the sandwichesI was thinking of her dying….”

To remain calm and cool and answer as briefly² and passionlessly as possible….

Fighting….

Fighting every inch of the way….

Over now… The horrible man with the Jewish nose was sitting down. And the kindly³, unctuousvoice of Sir Edwin Bulmer was asking a few more questions. Easy, pleasant questions, designed toremove any bad impression she might have made under cross-examination….

She was back again in the dock. Looking at the jury, wondering….

 

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