"Any questions, gentlemen?" he asked.
The cobbler directed an intimidating scowl at the witness and demanded:
"Were you searching for bones when you came on these remains?"
"Me!" exclaimed the witness. "What should I be searching for bones for?"
"Don't prevaricate," said the cobbler sternly; "answer the question: Yes
or no."
"No; of course I wasn't."
The juryman shook his enormous head dubiously as though implying that
he would let it pass this time but it mustn't happen again; and the
examination of the witnesses continued, without eliciting anything that
was new to me or giving rise to any incident, until the sergeant had
described the finding of the right arm in the Cuckoo Pits.
"Was this an accidental discovery?" the coroner asked.
"No. We had instructions from Scotland Yard to search any likely ponds
in this neighbourhood."
The coroner discreetly forbore to press this matter any farther, but my
friend the cobbler was evidently on the qui vive, and I anticipated a
brisk cross-examination for Mr.
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