Scarhaven Keep by J. S. Fletcher (best value ebook reader TXT) 📕

deceased man came to her house. One of the foremen of the estate⁠—to prove the great care with which the Squire had searched for traces of the missing man. One of the estate labourers⁠—to prove the actual finding of the body. The doctor⁠—to prove, beyond all doubt, that the deceased had broken his neck.

The coroner, an elderly man, obviously well satisfied with the trend of things, took off his spectacles and turned to the jury.

“You have heard everything there is to be heard, gentlemen,” said he. “As I remarked at the opening of this inquest, the case is one of great simplicity. You will have no difficulty in deciding that the deceased came to his death by accident⁠—as to the exact wording of your verdict, you had better put it in this way: that the deceased Bassett Oliver died as the result⁠—”

Petherton, who, noticing the coroner’s deafness, had contrived to seat himself as close to his chair of office as possible, quietly rose.

“Before the jury consider any verdict,” he said in his loudest tones, “they must hear certain evidence which I wish to call. And first of all⁠—is Mr. Marston Greyle present in this room?”

The coroner frowned, and the Squire’s solicitor turned to Petherton.

“Mr. Greyle is not present,” he said. “He is not at all well. There is no need for his presence⁠—he has no evidence to give.”

“If you don’t have Mr. Greyle down here at once,” said Petherton, quietly, “this inquest will have to be adjourned for his attendance. You had better send for him⁠—or I’ll get the authorities to do so. In the meantime, we’ll call one or two witnesses⁠—Daniel Ewbank!⁠—to begin with.”

There was a brief and evidently anxious consultation between Greyle’s solicitor and the coroner; there were dark looks at Petherton and his companions. Then the foreman of the jury spoke, sullenly.

“We don’t want to hear no Ewbanks!” he said. “We’re quite satisfied, us as sits here. Our verdict is⁠—”

“You’ll have to bear Ewbank and anybody I like to call, my good sir,” retorted Petherton quietly. “I am better acquainted with the law than you are.” He turned to the coroner’s officer. “I warned you this morning to produce Ewbank,” he said. “Now, where is he?”

Out of a deep silence a shrill voice came from the rear of the crowd.

“Knows better than to be here, does Dan’l Ewbank, mister! He’s off!”

“Very good⁠—or bad⁠—for somebody,” remarked Petherton, quietly. “Then⁠—until Mr. Marston Greyle comes⁠—we will call Zachary Spurge.”

The assemblage, jurymen included, broke into derisive laughter as Spurge suddenly appeared from the most densely packed corner of the room, and it was at once evident to Copplestone that whatever the poacher might say, no one there would attach any importance to it. The laughter continued and increased while Spurge was under examination. Petherton appealed to the coroner; the coroner affected not to hear. And once more the foreman of the jury interrupted.

“We don’t want to hear no more o’ this stuff!” he said. “It’s an insult to us to put a fellow like that before us. We don’t believe a word o’ what he says. We don’t believe he was within a mile o’ them ruins on Sunday afternoon. It’s all a put-up job!”

Petherton leaned towards the reporters.

“I hope you gentlemen of the press will make a full note of these proceedings,” he observed suavely. “You at any rate are not biased or prejudiced.”

The coroner heard that in spite of his deafness, and he grew purple.

“Sir!” he exclaimed. “That is a most improper observation! It’s a reflection on my position, sir, and I’ve a great mind⁠—”

“Mr. Coroner,” observed Petherton, leaning towards him, “I shall hand in a full report concerning your conduct of these proceedings to the Home Office tomorrow. If you attempt to interfere with my duty here, all the worse for you. Now, Spurge, you can stand down. And as I see Mr. Greyle there⁠—call Marston Greyle!”

The Squire had appeared while Spurge was giving his evidence, and had heard what the poacher alleged. He entered the box very pale, angry, and disturbed, and the glances which he cast on Sir Cresswell Oliver and his party were distinctly those of displeasure.

“Swear him!” commanded Petherton. “Now, Mr. Greyle⁠—”

But Greyle’s own solicitor was on his legs, insisting on his right to put a first question. In spite of Petherton, he put it.

“You heard the evidence of the last witness?⁠—Spurge. Is there a word of truth in it?”

Marston Greyle⁠—who certainly looked very unwell⁠—moistened his lips.

“Not one word!” he answered. “It’s a lie!”

The solicitor glanced triumphantly at the Coroner and the jury, and the crowd raised unchecked murmurs of approval. Again the foreman endeavoured to stop the proceedings.

“We regard all this here as very rude conduct to Mr. Greyle,” he said angrily. “We’re not concerned⁠—”

“Mr. Foreman!” said Petherton. “You are a foolish man⁠—you are interfering with justice. Be warned!⁠—I warn you, if the Coroner doesn’t. Mr. Greyle, I must ask you certain questions. Did you see the deceased Bassett Oliver on Sunday last?”

“No!”

“I needn’t remind you that you are on your oath. Have you ever met the deceased man in your life?”

“Never!”

“You never met him in America?”

“I may have met him⁠—but not to my recollection. If I did, it was in such a casual fashion that I have completely forgotten all about it.”

“Very well⁠—you are on your oath, mind. Where did you live in America, before you succeeded to this estate?”

The Squire’s solicitor intervened.

“Don’t answer that question!” he said sharply. “Don’t answer any more. I object altogether to your line,” he went on, angrily, turning to Petherton. “I claim the Coroner’s protection for the witness.”

“I quite agree,” said the Coroner. “All this is absolutely irrelevant. You can stand down,” he continued, turning to the Squire. “I will have no more of this⁠—and I will take the full responsibility!”

“And the consequences, Mr. Coroner,” replied Petherton calmly. “And the first consequence is that I now formally demand an adjournment of this inquest, sine die.”

“On what grounds, sir?” demanded the Coroner.

“To permit me to bring evidence from America,” replied Petherton, with a side glance at Marston Greyle.