CHAPTER XII
They hung on his answer. But when it came, it was entirely commonplace.
"We were always on the best of terms, during thirteen years of married life."
There was no quaver of his voice, no flinching of the gaze to account for the sudden rush and ebb of blood. It had seemed a tell-tale change of colour, following as it did upon such a question, which in some form or other he must have expected, and was like the silent revealing of a black secret guessed by none. Yet what could be made out of the reply? There was a ring of truth in it and the query appeared to be fully answered. Yet—there was a dim impression of something wrong, something hidden, something in the words more or less than met the ear. "On the best of terms during thirteen years of married life." What could any coroner or juror ask beyond that?
The coroner, at all events, did not intend to ask anything further of importance for the present. He let Sir Ian Hereward go, after putting a few questions concerning the theory of the robbery, and called Mrs. Barnard, frightened and anxious, but more at ease than she would have been in the hands of any other
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