pointing an accusing finger at the
witness; "You and Drummond used to go to motorcycle races together."

He did it very well, but it did not succeed. The jury were left with the
impression that the People's witness on speed was one to be believed.

CHAPTER X

Strangely enough, the days of her trial were among the happiest and the
most interesting that Lydia had ever known. They had a continuity of
interest that kept her calm and equable. Usually when she woke in the
softest of beds and lifted her cheek from the smoothest of pillows she
asked herself what she should do that day. Choice was open to
her--innumerable choices--all unsatisfactory, because her own
satisfaction was the only element to be considered.

But during her trial she did not ask this question. She had an
occupation and an object for living, not so much to save herself as to
humiliate O'Bannon. The steady, strong interest gave shape and pattern
to her days, like the thread of a string of beads.

As soon as each session was over she and Wiley, on the lawn of the
courthouse or at her house if she could detain him, or she and Albee or
Bobby or Miss Bennett, as the case might be, would go over each point
made by the prosecution's witnesses or brought out by Wiley's
cross-examination of them. The district attorney seemed to be reserving
no surprises. He had a strong, straight case with Drummond's
ante-mortem statement, and a great many witnesses as to Lydia's speed.
The bracelet had not been admitted in evidence so far, nor had
Drummond's statement referred to it, and Wiley grew more confident that
it would not be allowed. The defense had felt some anxiety over the
exactitude with which the hour of the accident had been established, but
as Lydia did not honestly know the hour at which she had left Eleanor's
nor had Eleanor or any of her servants been subpoenaed, there did not
seem any danger from this point after all.

Lydia, who was to be the first witness for the defense, had thought over
every point, every implication of her own testimony, until she felt sure
that "that man" would not be able to catch her wrong in a single item.
She did not dread the moment--she longed for it. Wiley had advised her
of the danger of remembering too much--a candid "I'm afraid I don't
remember that" would often convince a jury better than a too exact
memory.

"And," Wiley added soothingly, "don't be frightened if the district
attorney tries to browbeat you. T