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"Answer the question without equivocation, witness." "Y-es, sir." There was a slight stir in the body of the court due to the fact that Miss Fewbanks and Mrs. Holymead had risen and were making their way to the door.
The body of the court was packed before the proceedings commenced. The number of ladies present was even greater than on the first day, and the resources of the ushers were severely taxed to find accommodation for them all. In the back row Crewe noticed Mrs. Holymead, accompanied by Mademoiselle Chiron. They had not been in court on the previous day. Mrs.
It would have been a great relief to him if he had known that Crewe's object in going to the gallery was not to mix with the criminal classes, but in order to keep a careful survey of what took place in the body of the court without making himself too prominent. Mr. Holymead, K.C., arrived, and members of the junior bar deferentially made room for him.
Holymead," he said firmly. "I wish to see her." "I regret, monsieur, but Madame Holymead is out of town. She went last week. If you had only come before she went" Mademoiselle Chiron looked genuinely sorry. Rolfe was a little taken aback at this intelligence, and showed it. "Out of town!" he repeated. "Where has she gone to?" She looked at him almost timidly.
"I cannot enter into a bargain like that," rejoined Crewe. "I do not know whether Mrs. Holymead may not be implicated concerned in what you say." "Monsieur, she is not!" flashed Gabrielle indignantly. "She knows nothing about it. What I have to tell you concerns myself alone." "In that case," rejoined Crewe, "I think you had better speak to me frankly and freely, and if I can I will help you."
"That may be so, but these things come out," retorted Gabrielle. "Monsieur," she added, after a pause, and speaking in a low tone, "I know that you can do much very much if you will, and can stop Madame Holymead from being worried. Would you do so if you were told who the murderer was I mean he who did really kill the great judge?"
"He left one of his visitors alone here for a few minutes," said Hill in a voice which was little more than a whisper. "Which one?" asked Rolfe eagerly. "A lady." "Who was she?" "Mrs. Holymead." "Oh!" Rolfe's exclamation was one of disappointment. "She is a friend of the family. She came out to see Miss Fewbanks it was a visit of condolence." "Yes, sir," said the obsequious butler.
Before he could withdraw from their view behind the pillar in front of him, Miss Fewbanks looked up and saw him. She bowed to him in friendly recognition, and Crewe saw her whisper to Mrs. Holymead, who glanced quickly in his direction and then as quickly averted her gaze.
His large red face went a deeper scarlet in colour as he looked at her. "Flack tells me that you are a friend of the family, Mrs. Holymead. What is it that I can do for you? I need scarcely say, Mrs. Holymead, that your distinguished husband is well known to us all. I have had the pleasure of being cross-examined by him on several occasions.
Holymead remained in conversation. Rolfe would have described it officially as familiar conversation, but that description would have overlooked the deference, the sense of inferiority, in "Kincher's" manner. For a time Rolfe was puzzled by the incident, but he eventually lighted on an explanation which satisfied himself. It was that in the earlier days before Mr.
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