And so ended the first of the dead man's bequests.

The gathering of a jury in a country village for an important inquest like that occasioned by George Pickering's death is a solemn function.

Care is exercised in empaneling men of repute, and, in the present instance, several prominent farmers were debarred from service because their children would be called as witnesses.

The inquest was held, by permission, in the National schoolhouse. No room in the inn would accommodate a t.i.the of the people who wished to attend. Many journalists put in an appearance, the _Messenger_ reporter's paragraphs having attracted widespread attention.

It was noteworthy, too, that Superintendent Jonas did not conduct the case for the police. He obtained the aid of a solicitor, Mr. Dane, with whom the coroner, Dr. Magnus, drove from Nottonby in a closed carriage, for the rain had not ceased, save during very brief intervals, since the outbreak on Thursday morning.

The jury, having been sworn, elected Mr. Webster, grocer, as their foreman, and proceeded to view the body. When they rea.s.sembled in the schoolroom it was seen that Betsy, now Mrs. Pickering, was seated next her sister. With them were two old people whom a few persons present recognized as the girls' parents, and by Betsy's side was Mr. Stockwell.

Among the crowd of witnesses were Martin, Frank and Ernest Beckett-Smythe, and Angle.

The mortification, the angry dismay of Mrs. Saumarez when her daughter was warned to attend the inquest may well be imagined. The police are no respecters of persons, and P. C. Benson, of course, ascertained easily the name of the girl concerning whom Martin and young Beckett-Smythe fought on the eventful night. She might be an important witness, so her mother was told to send her to the court.

Mrs. Saumarez disdained to accompany the girl in person, and Franoise was deputed to act as convoy. The Normandy nurse's white linen bands offered a quaint contrast to the black robes worn by the other women and gave material for a descriptive sentence to every journalist in the room.

Mr. Beckett-Smythe, the vicar, Dr. MacGregor, and the county a.n.a.lyst occupied chairs beside the Coroner. The latter gentleman described the nature of the inquiry with businesslike brevity, committing himself to no statements save those that were obvious. When he concluded, Mr. Dane rose.

"I appear for the police," he said.

"And I," said Mr. Stockwell, "am here to watch the interests of Mrs.

Pickering, having received her husband's written instructions to that effect."

A deep hush fell on the packed a.s.sembly. The curious nature of the announcement was a surprise in itself. The reporters' pencils were busy, and the Coroner adjusted his spectacles.

"The written instructions of the dead man?" he exclaimed.

"Yes, sir. My friend, my lifelong friend, Mr. George Pickering, was but too well aware of the fate that threatened him. I have here a letter, written and signed by him on Thursday morning. With your permission, I will read it."

"I object," cried Mr. Dane.

"On what grounds?" asked the Coroner.

"Such a letter may have a prejudicial effect on the minds of the jury.

They are here to determine, with your direction, a verdict to be arrived at on certain evidence. This letter cannot be regarded as evidence."

Mr. Stockwell shrugged his shoulders.

"I do not press the point," he said. "I fail to see any harm in showing a husband's anxiety that his wife should be cleared of absurd imputations."

Mr. Dane reddened.

"I consider that a highly improper remark," he cried.

The other only smiled. He had won the first round. The jury knew what the letter contained, and he had placed the case for the police in an unfavorable light.

The first witness, Pickering's farm bailiff, gave formal evidence of ident.i.ty.

Then the Coroner read the dead man's deposition, which was attested by the local justice of the peace. Dr. Magnus rendered the doc.u.ment impressively. Its concluding appeal to the Deity turned all eyes on Betsy. She was pale, but composed. Since her husband's death she had cried but little. Her mute grief rendered her beautiful. Sorrow had given dignity to a pretty face. She was so white, so unmoved outwardly, that she resembled a clothed statue. Kitty wept quietly all the time, but Betsy sat like one in a dream.

"Catherine Thwaites," said the Coroner's officer, and Kitty was led by Mr. Jones to the witness stand. The girl's evidence, punctuated by sobs, was practically a rsum of Pickering's sworn statement.

From Mr. Dane's att.i.tude it was apparent that he regarded this witness as untruthful.

"Of course," he said, with quiet satire in word and look, "as Mr.

Pickering impaled himself on a fork, you did not see your sister plunge a knife into his breast?"

"No, sir."

"Nor did you run down the garden shrieking: 'Oh, Betsy, Betsy, you've killed him.' You did not cry 'Murder, murder! Come, someone, for G.o.d's sake'?"

"Yes, sir; I did."

This unexpected admission puzzled the solicitor. He darted a sharp side glance at Stockwell, but the latter was busy scribbling notes. Every pulse in court quickened.

"Oh, you did, eh? But why charge your sister with a crime you did not see her commit?"

"Because she had a knife in her hand, and I saw Mr. Pickering stagger across the garden and fall."

"In what direction did he stagger?"

"Away from the stackyard hedge."

"This is a serious matter. You are on your oath, and there is such a thing as being an accessory after----"

Up sprang Stockwell.

"I protest most strongly against this witness being threatened," he shouted.

"I think Mr. Dane is ent.i.tled to warn the witness against false testimony," said the Coroner. "Of course, he knows the grave responsibility attached to such insinuations."

Mr. Dane waved an emphatic hand.

"I require no threats," he said. "I have evidence in plenty. Do you swear that Mr. Pickering did not lurch forward from beneath the pear tree at the foot of the garden after being stabbed by your sister, who surprised him in your arms, or you in his arms? It is the same thing."

"I do," was the prompt answer.

The lawyer sat down, shrugging his shoulders.

"Any questions to put to the witness, Mr. Stockwell?" said the Coroner.

"No, sir. I regard her evidence as quite clear."

"Will you--er--does your client Mrs. Pickering wish to give evidence?"

"My client--she is not my client of her own volition, but by the definite instructions of her dead husband--will certainly give evidence.

May I express the hope that my learned friend will not deal with her too harshly? She is hardly in a fit state to appear here to-day."

Mr. Dane smiled cynically, but made no reply. He declined to help his adversary's adroit maneuvers by fiery opposition, though again had Mr.

Stockwell succeeded in playing a trump card.