very formal affair and Rathbone had nothing to ask of him either. His attention wandered. First he studied the jurors one by one. They were still fresh-faced, concentration sharp, catching every word. After two or three days they would look quite different; their eyes would be tired, muscles cramped. They would begin to fidget and grow impatient. They would no longer watch whoever was speaking but would stare around, as he was doing now. And quite possibly they would already have made up their minds whether Sir Herbert was guilty or not.
Lastly before luncheon adjournment Lovat-Smith called Mrs. Flaherty. She mounted the witness box steps very carefully, face white with concentration, black skirts brushing against the railings on either side. She looked exactly like an elderly housekeeper in dusty bombazine. Rathbone almost expected to see a chain of keys hanging from her waist and an expense ledger in her hand.
She faced the court with offense and disapproval in every pinched line of her features. She was affronted at the necessity of attending such a place. All criminal proceedings were beneath the dignity of respectable people, and she had never expected in all her days to find herself in such a position.
Lovat-Smith was obviously amused by it. There was nothing but respect in his face, and his manners were flawless, but Rathbone knew him well enough to detect it in the angle of his shoulders, the gestures of his hands, even the way he walked across the polished boards of the floor toward the stand and looked up at her.
"Mrs. Flaherty," he began quietly. "You are a matron of the Royal Free Hospital, are you not?"
"I am," she said grimly. She seemed about to add something more, then closed her lips in a thin line.
"Just so," Lovat-Smith agreed. He had not been raised by a governess nor had he been in hospital. Efficient middle-aged ladies did not inspire in him the awe they did in many of his colleagues.
He had told Rathbone, in one of their rare moments of relaxation together, late at night over a bottle of wine, that he had gone to a charity school on the outskirts of the city before a patron, observing his intelligence, had paid for him to have extra tutelage.
Now Lovat-Smith looked up at Mrs. Flaherty blandly. "Would you be good enough, ma'am, to tell the court where you were from approximately six in the morning of the day Prudence Banymore met her death until you heard that her body had been discovered? Thank you so much."
Grudgingly and in precise detail she told him what he wished. As a result of his frequently interposed questions, she also told the court the whereabouts of almost all the other nurses on duty that morning, and largely those of the chaplain and the dressers also.
Rathbone did not interrupt. There was no point of procedure he quarreled with, nor any matter of fact. It would have been foolish to draw attention to the weakness of his position by fighting when he could not win. Let the jury think he was holding his fire in the certainty that he had a fatal blow to deliver at some future time. He sat back in his chair a little, composing his face into an expression of calm interest, a very slight smile on his lips.
He noticed several jurors glancing at him and then at Lovat-Smith, and knew they were wondering when the real battle would begin. They also took furtive looks at Sir Herbert, high up in the dock. He was very pale, but if there was terror inside him, or the sick darkness of guilt, not a breath of it showed in his face.
Rathbone studied him discreetly as Lovat-Smith drew more fine details from Mrs. Flaherty. Sir Herbert was listening with careful attention, but there was no real interest in his face. He seemed quite relaxed, his back straight, his hands clasped in front of him on the railing. It was all familiar territory and he knew it did not matter to the core of the case. He had never contested his own presence in the hospital at the time, and Mrs. Flaherty excluded only the peripheral players who were never true suspects.
Judge Hardie adjourned the court, and as they were leaving Lovat-Smith fell in step beside Rathbone, his curiously light eyes glittering with amusement.
"Whatever made you take it up?" he said quietly, but the disbelief was rich in his voice.
'Take what up?" Rathbone looked straight ahead of him as