The dress she had on was a house wrap, a striped house wrap, with a pink and light stripe alternating, the pink the most prominent color. On the light ground stripe was a diamond figure formed by narrow stripes, some of which ran diagonally or bias to the stripe, and others parallel with it. The sides were tailored, fitting — or fitted — to the form. The front from the waist to the neck was loose and in folds. The collar was standing, plaited on the sides and closely shirred in front. On either side, directly over the hips, was caught a narrow, bright red ribbon, perhaps three-fourths of an inch — or an inch — in width. This was brought around front, tied in a bow, and allowed to drop, with the ends hanging a little below the bow. It was cut in semitrain or bell skirt, which the ladies were wearing that season...
“Don’t go quite so fast. Cut in what?” Robinson said.
“A bell skirt.”
“Bell skirt?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You usually called that kind of a dress a bell skirt, did you?”
“The cut of the dress. Not that kind of a dress.”
“That was your description of it? As you spoke in conversation about it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Nobody told you that?”
“No, sir.”
“What has been your business before you became a policeman?”
“I was in the painting business.”
“What before that?”
“I was in the book business before that.”
“Prior to that?”
“Wood business.”
“Were you ever in the dressmaking business?”
“No, sir.”
“Were you ever in the dry-goods business?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you ever have anything to do with colors except as a painter?”
“Nothing any more than to admire them.”
“You admire them. But did you admire a red ribbon on a pink wrapper?”
“Well, I am not speaking of my taste, sir.”
“Go on, then.”
I told Miss Lizzie I would like to have her tell me all she knew about this matter.
She said, “I can tell you nothing about it.”
I asked her when she last saw her father.
She said, “When he returned from the post office with a small package in his hand and some mail. I asked him if he had any for me, and he said no. He then sat down to read the paper, and I went out in the barn. I remained there twenty minutes. I returned and found him dead.”
“When going to or coming from the barn,” I said, “did you see anybody in or around the yard? Or anybody going up or down the street?”
“No, sir,” she said.
“Not even the opening or closing of a screen door?” I said. “Why not? You were but a short distance, and you would have heard the noise if any was made.”
“I was up in the loft,” she said.
I was silent a moment, and then I said, “What motive?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Was it robbery?”
“I think not, for everything appears all right, even to the watch in his pocket and the ring on his finger.”
I then asked her if she had any reason to suspect anybody, no matter how slight. “No matter how insignificant it may be,” I said, “it may be of great moment to the police, and be of much assistance to them in ferreting out the criminal.”
“No,” she said. “I... have not.”
“Why hesitate?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, “a few weeks ago father had angry words with a man about something.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know, but they were very angry at the time, and the stranger went away.”
“Did you see him at all?”
“No, sir, they were in another room. But from the tone of their voices, I knew everything wasn’t pleasant between them.”
“Did you hear your father say anything about him?”
“No, sir.”
About here, I cautioned her of what she might say at the present time. “Owing to the atrociousness of this crime,” I said, “perhaps you are not in a mental condition to give as clear a statement of the facts as you will be on tomorrow. By that time you may recollect more about the man. You may remember of having heard his name, or of having seen him, and thereby be enabled to give a description of him. You may recollect of having heard your father say something about him or his visit. By that time you may be in a better condition to relate what you know of the circumstances.”
To this, she made a stiff curtsy, shaking her head, and she said, “No, I can tell you all I know now, just as well as any other time.”
“Mr. Harrington,” Moody said, “without characterizing, can you describe her appearance and manner during the conversation?”
“Wait a moment,” Robinson said. “What she did and what she said!”
“If the witness observes the question carefully,” Mason said, “he may answer it.”
“Your Honor very properly says if he discriminates carefully, he may answer properly,” Robinson said. “The difficulty is he may give his judgment upon her state of mind from what he saw. That’s the difficulty with it.”
“The question doesn’t call for it,” Mason said, “and the witness appears intelligent. Having his attention called to it — that he is to do nothing but to answer the question — he may answer it.”
“I’ll ask a preliminary question,” Moody said. “Do you understand the distinction that I intend to draw?”
“Well, I would like to have the question read.”
“Without characterizing,” the stenographer read, “can you describe her appearance and manner during the conversation?”
“She was cool—”
“Wait!” Robinson said, leaping to his feet.
“Well, that’s the difficulty,” Moody said.
“Well,” Harrington said, “it’s rather a difficult thing to get at, sir.”
“By leading a little,” Moody said, “perhaps I can get at it.”
“It should be stricken out,” Robinson said. “It’s not a completed answer.”
“It’s not completed because you stopped him,” Knowlton said. “I suppose what he said — ‘She was cool’ — is an answer strictly within the rule.”
“If you’re content to have the answer stop there, it may stand,” Mason said.
“I’m content to have it stop there,” Moody said.
“I’m content if it stays there,” Robinson said.
“During any part of the interview, was she in tears?” Moody asked.
“No, sir.”
“Did she sit or stand during the talk with you?”
“She stood.”
“Was there any breaking of the voice, or was it steady?”
“Steady.”
“Now will you state anything more that was said while you were there?”
... I then spoke to her again about the time that she was in the barn. She said twenty minutes. I asked her wasn’t it difficult to be so accurate about fixing the time, to fix the time so accurately. “May you not have been there half an hour or perhaps fifteen minutes?” I said.
She said, “No, sir, I was there twenty minutes.”
I went out the door, downstairs, through the front hall, and passed through the sitting room into the kitchen. There were quite a number of people there, among whom I noticed — or recognized — Dr. Bowen and Medical Examiner Dolan, Assistant Marshal Fleet and the servant girl, whose name at the time, I did not know.
Just as I went to pass by Dr. Bowen, between him and the stove, I saw some scraps of notepaper in his hand. He was standing a little west of the door that led into the rear hall or entryway. I asked him what they were, referring to the pieces of paper, and he said, “Oh, I guess it’s nothing.”