With what purpose? What did she expect to see in it which others
had not seen many times? She did not know, herself. She was simply
following an impulse, just as she had felt herself borne on by
some irresistible force in her dream. And so, the three stood
there, the men's faces ironic, inquisitive, wondering at the
woman's phlegm if not at her motive; hers, hidden behind her veil,
but bent forward over the weapon in an attitude of devouring
interest. Thus for a long, slow minute; then she impulsively
raised her head and, beckoning the two men nearer, she directed
attention to a splintered portion of the handle and asked them
what they saw there.
"Nothing; just stick," declared the sergeant. "The marks you are
looking for are higher up."
"And you, Mr. Black?"
He saw nothing either but stick. But he was little less abrupt in
his answer.
"Do you mean those roughnesses?" he asked. "That's where the stick
was whittled. You remember that he had been whittling at the
stick--"
"Who?"
The word shot from her lips so violently that for a moment both
men looked staggered by it. Then Mr. Black, with unaccustomed
forbearance, answered gently enough:
"Why, Scoville, madam; or so the prosecution congratulated itself
upon having proved to the jury's satisfaction. It did not tally
with Scoville's story or with common sense I know. You remember,--
pardon me,--I mean that any one who read a report of the case,
will remember how I handled the matter in my speech.
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