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Emily Inglethorpe
It was handed to the jury who scrutinized it attentively.
"I fear it does not help us much," said the Coroner, with a sigh. "There is no
mention of any of the events of that afternoon."
"Plain as a pikestaff to me," said Miss Howard shortly. "It shows clearly
enough that my poor old friend had just found out she'd been made a fool
of!"
"It says nothing of the kind in the letter," the Coroner pointed out.
"No, because Emily never could bear to put herself in the wrong. But I know
her. She wanted me back. But she wasn't going to own that I'd been right.
She went round about. Most people do. Don't believe in it myself."
Mr. Wells smiled faintly. So, I noticed, did several of the jury. Miss Howard
was obviously quite a public character.
"Anyway, all this tomfoolery is a great waste of time," continued the lady,
glancing up and down the jury disparagingly. "Talk--talk--talk! When all the
time we know perfectly well----"
The Coroner interrupted her in an agony of apprehension:
"Thank you, Miss Howard, that is all."
I fancy he breathed a sigh of relief when she complied.
Then came the sensation of the day. The Coroner called Albert Mace,
chemist's assistant.
It was our agitated young man of the pale face. In answer to the Coroner's
questions, he explained that he was a qualified pharmacist, but had only
recently come to this particular shop, as the assistant formerly there had
just been called up for the army.
These preliminaries completed, the Coroner proceeded to business.
"Mr. Mace, have you lately sold strychnine to any unauthorized person?"
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