The deep voice by her shoulder remarked: "I will ask to see them." _Do you have to go over there, Cecil?_ Then Callista was aware of a small but unaccountable lapse of time, for Cecil was already by the prosecution's table glaring morosely at little scraps of paper, his bushed eyebrows in a clench, while T. J. Hunter stood by politely, hands in his pockets. Had she fallen asleep sitting up? Was it possible for an accused witch to do that in a court of law? _Oh, likely had something to attend to, and took off on my broomstick--well, sure, a mission, three times around the Shanesville house casting a spell to curdle Cousin Maud's plum jam, and high time too--it merely slipped my mind--how'd I manage without a cat?_ She saw the Old Man's shoulder sag and stiffen. It was cut and dried, he had told her: the letters would go in, mostly because he hoped to gain more than lose by them, when there was a chance for the defense to interpret them. This present show of examining them was what he called legal window-dressing. She saw him make some quick _sotto voce_ comment, his face savagely disgusted, an aside that no one but T. J. Hunter could hear. Hunter flushed all the way up his bald forehead; the flush passed, leaving no sign of anger. Then Cecil spoke in his courtroom voice, smoothly, a tone of indifference close to contempt: "The defense will not protest the admission of these documents." _How could I have slept?_ Cecil was returning. _Apparently no one noticed--a minor accomplishment of necromancy--I just toss these things off, you know._ Some mumbling and talking over yonder, as she felt the return of Cecil's warmth, and took hold of his hand, though he was really nothing like her father. Yes, Rankin, identifying the silly things. _Poor Jim, spelled "relinquish" r-e-l-i-n-q-u-e-s-h. E for effort._ "Cecil, what did you say to the rising young lawyer that turned him pink?" He looked at her doubtfully, not smiling. "I said the prosecution must be running out of keyholes." "Maybe you touched a childhood trauma." "His childhood be damned," the Old Man grumbled. "He's still a snotnose pulling the wings off flies, as a profession." "I decline to be compared to a house-fly." "Shut up, dear. I've got to listen again." "Sergeant, after Miss Blake's admission that James Doherty had been her lover, was she questioned any further, there at her apartment?" "No, sir. Chief Gage informed her that she would be detained for questioning. She made no protest. Accompanied by yourself, Mr. Hunter, I took her in a police car direct to Mr. Lamson's office, in this building." "Was she questioned there, in your presence?" "Yes, sir, mainly by Mr. Lamson. My recollection is that the others present were yourself, Chief Gage, Miss Wallingford--that's Mr. Lamson's secretary--who made a stenographic record of the interrogation, and Sergeant Shields of the State Police, who was present only a part of the time, a few minutes."