Below Suspicion Read Online Free PDF

help from a ringing bell.
    Had Mrs. Mildred Taylor screamed out and demanded these salts? Very well! She should have that which she believed to be Nemo's salts —easily obtainable, the prosecution would demonstrate, from an unlocked cabinet in an unlocked stable.
    "You will hear," continued Mr. Lowdnes, "that this poison does not act immediately. You may ask yourselves whether Mrs. Taylor, or anybody else in that position, would not have called for help. Yet the prisoner denies that she did. You may ask yourselves why the only fingerprints on the tin were those of the prisoner and of the deceased. You may ask yourselves, indeed, who else could have administered the antimony in a house described by the prisoner herself, in her statement to Divisional Detective-Inspector Wales, as being 'locked up like a fortress.' "
    A faint whisper and creak, as though thoughts themselves spoke, trembled in the courtroom.
    "This is nasty," muttered one of Butler's fellow-silks in the bench behind. "How's the Irishman going to meet it?"
    "Dunno," muttered another. "But there ought to be fireworks before long."
    There were. The fireworks began to explode during Mr. Lowdnes's examination of his fourth witness, Mrs. Ahce Griffiths. After the usual preliminary questions:
    "Will you tell us, Mrs. Griffiths, where you were about a quarter to four on the afternoon of February 22nd?"
    "Yes, sir. You mean when I went into Mrs. Taylor's room to see if the fire was all right?"
    Mr. Lowdnes's fat face, twinkling with a pair of pince-nez, was tilted with chin up high.
    "I don't want to lead you, Mrs. Griffiths. Just tell your story."
    ''Well, I did."
    "Did what?"
    "Went into the room!" said the witness.
    The slight tremor of a laugh, especially from the privileged spectators in the seats of the City Lands Corporation behind counsel, hovered near. Mr. Justice Stoneman looked up, very briefly, and even the ghost-tremor died.
    Mrs. Griffiths was a determined, thick-bodied httle woman in the middle forties. Though necessarily as shabbily dressed as any woman in the court, she wore a new hat with bright pink flowers. Lines of discontent drew down the comers of her mouth. She was flustered, overawed, and therefore angry.
    Mr. Lowdnes regarded her imperturbably.
    "Was the deceased alone at this time?"
    "Yes, sir."
    "What did she say to you?"
    "She said Mrs. Renshaw and Dr. Bierce had been there, but they wouldn't stay to tea. She said Dr. Bierce had gone first, and then Mrs. Renshaw. She said she'd 'ad words with Mrs. Renshaw. About religion."
    "About . . . Ah, I see. The deceased was a very religious woman, then?"
    "Well, she always said she was. But she never went to church."
    "What I am getting at is this. Did Mrs. Taylor say anything about the prisoner?"
    "Well . . . yes, sir."
    "Your reluctance does you credit, Mrs. Griffiths. But please speak up so that we can hear you."
    "The madam called Miss Ellis a—a bad name. She said. . . ."
    "What was the bad name?" interposed Mr. Justice Stoneman.
    Alice Griffiths went as pink in the face as the flowers on her hat.
    "She said . . . what means a streetwalker, sir."
    " 'What means a streetwalker,' " repeated Mr. Lowdnes in a ruminating tone. "Anything else?"
    There was an audible throat-clearing. Patrick Butler, his black gown sweeping round him like the cloak of a Regency duellist, rose to his full height.
    "My lord," he said in his rich voice, "I must apologize for interrupting my learned friend. But may I ask whether my learned friend will introduce evidence to show that the prisoner was, in fact, a streetwalker?"
    "My lord, I imply no such thing!" exclaimed Mr. Lowdnes. "I merely wish to show that the deceased was in a state of anger!"
    "Then may I suggest, my lord, that my learned friend confine himself to literal facts? It might be confusing if I, in a state of anger, should refer to my learned friend as a ba—"
    ("Wow!" whispered counsel in the bench behind.)
    "Your illustration is not necessary, Mr.