“Miss Dare, will you tell us what pocket this was?”
“The outside pocket on the left side of his coat,” she returned, with a cold and careful exactness that caused the prisoner to drop his eyes from her face, with that faint but scornful twitch of the muscles about his mouth, which gave to his countenance now and then the proud look of disdain which both the detectives had noted.
“Miss Dare,” continued the Prosecuting Attorney, “did you see this ring again during the interview?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you detect the prisoner making any move to take it out of his pocket, or have you any reason to believe that it was taken out of the pocket on the left-hand side of his coat while you were with him?”
“No, sir.”
“So that, as far as you know, it was still in his pocket when you parted?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Miss Dare, have you ever seen that ring since?”
“I have.”
“When and where?”
“I saw it on the morning of the murder. It was lying on the floor of Mrs. Clemmens’ dining-room. I had gone to the house, in my surprise at hearing of the murderous assault which had been made upon her, and, while surveying the spot where she was struck, perceived this ring lying on the floor before me.”
“What made you think it was this ring which you had returned to the prisoner the day before?”
“Because of its setting, and the character of the gem, I suppose.”
“Could you see all this where it was lying on the floor?”
“It was brought nearer to my eyes, sir. A gentleman who was standing near, picked it up and offered it to me, supposing it was mine. As he held it out in his open palm I saw it plainly.”
“Miss Dare, will you tell us what you did when you first saw this ring lying on the floor?”
“I covered it with my foot.”
“Was that before you recognized it?”
“I cannot say. I placed my foot upon it instinctively.”
“How long did you keep it there?”
“Some few minutes.”
“What caused you to move at last?”
“I was surprised.”
“What surprised you?”
“A man came to the door.”
“What man.”
“I don’t know. A stranger to me. Someone who had been sent on an errand connected with this affair.”
“What did he say or do to surprise you?”
“Nothing. It was what you said yourself after the man had gone.”
“And what did I say, Miss Dare?”
She cast him a look of the faintest appeal, but answered quietly:
“Something about its not being the tramp who had committed this crime.”
“That surprised you?”
“That made me start.”
“Miss Dare, were you present in the house when the dying woman spoke the one or two exclamations which have been testified to in this trial?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What was the burden of the first speech you heard?”
“The words Hand, sir, and Ring. She repeated the two half a dozen times.”
“Miss Dare, what did you say to the gentleman who showed you the ring and asked if it were yours?”
“I told him it was mine, and took it and placed it on my finger.”
“But the ring was not yours?”
“My acceptance of it made it mine. In all but that regard it had been mine ever since Mr. Mansell offered it to me the day before.”
Mr. Ferris surveyed the witness for a moment before saying:
“Then you considered it damaging to your lover to have this ring found in that apartment?”
Mr. Orcutt instantly rose to object.
“I won’t press the question,” said the District Attorney, with a wave of his hand and a slight look at the jury.
“You ought never to have asked it?” exclaimed Mr. Orcutt, with the first appearance of heat he had shown.
“You are right,” Mr. Ferris coolly responded. “The jury could see the point without any assistance from you or me.”
“And the jury,” returned Mr. Orcutt, with equal coolness, “is scarcely obliged to you for the suggestion.”
“Well, we won’t quarrel about it,” declared Mr. Ferris.
“We won’t quarrel about anything,” retorted Mr. Orcutt. “We will try the case in a legal manner.”
“Have you got through?” inquired Mr. Ferris, nettled.
Mr. Orcutt took his seat with the simple reply:
“Go on with the case.”
The District Attorney, after a momentary pause to regain the thread of his examination and recover his equanimity, turned to the witness.
“Miss Dare,” he asked, “how long did you keep that ring on your finger after you left the house?”
“A little while—five or ten minutes, perhaps.”
“Where were you when you took it off?”
Her voice sank just a trifle:
“On the bridge at Warren Street.”
“What did you do with it then?”
Her eyes which had been upon the Attorney’s face, fell slowly.
“I dropped it into the water,” she said.
And the character of her thoughts and suspicions at that time stood revealed.
The Prosecuting Attorney allowed himself a few more questions.
“When you parted with the prisoner in the woods, was it with any arrangement for meeting again before he returned to Buffalo?”
“No, sir.”
“Give us the final words of your conversation, if you please.”
“We were just parting, and I had turned to go, when he said: ‘Is it goodbye, then, Imogene?’ and I answered, ‘That tomorrow must decide.’ ‘Shall I stay, then?’ he inquired; to which I replied, ‘Yes.’ ”
’Twas a short, seemingly literal, repetition of possibly innocent words, but the whisper into which her voice sank at the final “Yes” endowed it with a thrilling effect for which even she was not prepared. For she shuddered as she realized the deathly quiet that followed its utterance, and cast a quick look at Mr. Orcutt that was full of question, if not doubt.
“I was calculating upon the interview I intended to have with Mrs. Clemmens,” she explained, turning toward the Judge with indescribable dignity.
“We understand that,” remarked the Prosecuting Attorney, kindly, and then inquired:
“Was this the last you saw of the prisoner until today?”
“No, sir.”
“When did you see him again?”
“On the following Wednesday.”
“Where?”
“In the depot at Syracuse.”
“How came you to be in Syracuse the day after the murder?”
“I had started to go to Buffalo.”
“What purpose had you in going to
