And he did. I'm working now on a paper, to try
and pay as much off as I can, and--a cousin is keeping the mater until
I can look after her myself. We've taken a little place out Chelsea way.
That's all."
"H'm. And you can show proof of this, if the jury requires it?" put in
the coroner, at this juncture.
"I can--here and now." He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out
a sheaf of papers, tossing them in front of the coroner, who, after
a glance at their contents, seemed to be satisfied that they gave the
answer he sought.
"Thank you.... And you have no revolver, Mr. Stark, even if you had
reason for killing Mr. Wynne?"
Stark gave a little start of surprise.
"Reason for _killing_ him? You're not trying to intimate that _I_ killed
him, are you? Of all the idiotic things! No, I have no revolver, Mr.
Coroner. And I've nothing more to say."
"Then stand down," said the coroner, and Lester Stark threaded his way
back to the chair he had occupied during the proceedings, rather red in
the face, and with blazing eyes and tightly set lips.
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