“No. On the contrary I supposed that he was still here, as we had all been asked to stay longer,” replied Hollister. “I had no idea that he had left last night until I went to find him early this morning, and was told by Herman that he had departed.”
Penfield turned and whispered a few words to the deputy coroner, who nodded attentively; then addressed the lawyer.
“That is all, Mr. Hollister, thank you.” And as the latter left the witness chair Doctor Mayo approached Curtis.
“Coroner Penfield has recalled you to the stand,” he said. “Allow me—”
But Curtis did not wait for the offered arm. With assured tread he made his way to the witness chair and waited for the coroner to address him.
“Doctor Curtis,” the coroner turned back his notes until he came to the entry he wished, “you stated in your direct testimony that to the best of your belief the electric lights were turned on in the hall at the time you found Mr. Meredith’s body, as the bulb was hot to the touch. Why then did you telephone Mr. Hollister that the lights were out?”
Curtis’ fingers grew taut about his cane and his sightless eyes stared straight before him. “From where I stood in the bedroom trying to telephone to Mr. Hollister, I overheard Mrs. Meredith tell her daughter Anne that the hall was in darkness,” he stated quietly.
“You are excused, doctor; please resume your seat by the fireplace.” He waited until Curtis had crossed the room and then turned to Doctor Mayo.
“Call Mrs. Marshall Meredith to the stand.”
In the interval that followed the members of the jury relaxed and leaned back in their comfortable chairs, but no one broke the silence. Only the rustle of paper at the press table as reporters prepared copy could be heard, and David Curtis waited with the patience and quietude which his long convalescence in hospitals had engendered. He was not aware of the many curious glances cast in his direction, but the keen-eyed reporters who had scented a story of unusual interest in the rumored marriage between the blind surgeon and Anne Meredith, gained nothing by their scrutiny. Curtis’ expression was not indicative of his feelings.
When on the witness stand he had contented himself with answering the questions put to him. He had evaded nothing, nor had he volunteered information. No one had questioned him as to his having gone to John Meredith’s bedroom instead of his own, and he had not mentioned the presence of a woman in the dead man’s room. Could it be that she was the “female” of Herman’s story, and was that “female” Anne Meredith, as the butler evidently believed? If so, what then did the parrot’s cry, “Anne—I’ve caught you—you devil!” signify? Had the parrot repeated Meredith’s death cry?