Jeffrey eyed it and made the necessary reply. That cry had something
more than nervous excitement in it. Identifying the person who had
uttered it as a certain busy little woman well known in town, I
sent an officer to watch her; then recalled my attention to the point
the coroner was attempting to make. He had forced Mr. Jeffrey to
recognize the ribbon as the one which had fastened the pistol to
his wife's arm; now he asked whether, in his opinion, a woman could
tie such a bow to her own wrist, and when in common justice Mr.
Jeffrey was obliged to say no, waited a third time before he put
the general suspicion again into words:
"Can not you, by some means or some witness, prove to us that it
was on Tuesday night and not on Wednesday you spent the hours you
speak of on this scene of your marriage and your wife's death?"
The hopelessness which more than once had marked Mr. Jeffrey's
features since the beginning of this inquiry, reappeared with renewed
force as this suggestive question fell again upon his ears; and he
was about to repeat his plea of forgetfulness when the coroner's
attention was diverted by a request made in his ear by one of the
detectives. In another moment Mr. Jeffrey had been waved aside and
a new witness sworn in.
You can imagine every one's surprise, mine most of all, when this
witness proved to be Uncle David.
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