mean by saying that I felt forced to lay my
thumbs upon them? Was that a natural thing to do? Where was the candle at
that moment? How many feet away? A candle does not give much light at
that distance, was I sure that I saw those marks immediately; that they
were dark enough and visible enough to draw my eyes from her face which
would naturally attract my gaze first? It was horrible, devilish, but I
won through, only to meet the still more disturbing question as to
whether I saw any other evidences of strangulation besides the marks. I
could only mention the appearance of the eyes; and when Mr. Moffat found
that he could not shake me on this point, he branched off into a less
harrowing topic and cross-examined me in regard to the ring. I had said
that it was on her hand when I bade good-bye to her in her own house, and
that it was not there when I came upon her dead. Had the fact made me
curious to examine her hand? No. Then I could not tell whether the finger
on which she wore it gave any evidence of this ring having been pulled
off with violence? No. I could not swear that in my opinion it was? I
could not.

The small flask of cordial and the three glasses, one clean and the
others showing signs of having been used, were next taken up, but with no
result for the defence. I had told all I knew about these in my direct
examination; also about such matters as the bottles found on the kitchen
table, the leaving of my keys at the Cumberland house, and the fact, well
known, that the two bottles of wine left in the wine-vault and tabulated
by the steward as so left in the list found in my apartments, were of an
exclusive brand unlikely to be found anywhere else in town. I could add
nothing more, and, having spoken the exact truth concerning them, from
the very first, I ran no chance of contradicting myself even under the
close fire of the opposing counsel.

But there was a matter I dreaded to see him approach, and, which, I was
equally sure, with an insight unshared I believe by any one else in the
whole courtroom, was equally dreaded by the prisoner.

This was the presence in the club-house chimney of the half-burned letter
I had long ago been compelled, in my own defence, to acknowledge having
written to the victim's young sister, Carmel Cumberland. As I saw
District Attorney Fox about to enter upon this topic, I gathered myself
together to meet the onslaught, for in this matter I could not be
strictly truthful, since t