Had the fact made me curious to examine her hand?
No.

Then I could not tell whether the finger on which she wore it gave any evidence of this ring having been pulled off with violence?
No.

I could not swear that in my opinion it was?
I could not.
The small flask of cordial and the three glasses, one clean and the others showing signs of having been used, were next taken up, but with no result for the defence.

I had told all I knew about these in my direct examination; also about such matters as the bottles found on the kitchen table, the leaving of my keys at the Cumberland house, and the fact, well known, that the two bottles of wine left in the wine-vault and tabulated by the steward as so left in the list found in my apartments, were of an exclusive brand unlikely to be found anywhere else in town.

I could add nothing more, and, having spoken the exact truth concerning them, from the very first, I ran no chance of contradicting myself even under the close fire of the opposing counsel.
But there was a matter I dreaded to see him approach, and, which, I was equally sure, with an insight unshared I believe by any one else in the whole courtroom, was equally dreaded by the prisoner.
This was the presence in the club-house chimney of the half-burned letter I had long ago been compelled, in my own defence, to acknowledge having written to the victim's young sister, Carmel Cumberland.