“Orlways, sir—­orlways,” breathed Dollops, in a husky whisper.  “Where you goes, I’m a-hikin’ along by yer side.  You ain’t ever going ter get rid of me.”

“Good lad!” and they redoubled their pace.

CHAPTER XX

AT THE INQUEST

Thursday dawned in a blaze of sunshine, and after the bleak promise of the day before the sky was a clear, sapphire-blue.

“What a day!  And what a mission to waste it on!” sighed Cleek next morning, as he finished breakfast and took a turn to the front door, smoking his cigarette.  “Here’s murder at the very door of this ill-fated place.  And we’ve got to see the thing out!”

He spun upon his heel and went back again into the gloomy hall, as though the sight of the sunshine sickened him.  His thoughts were with Merriton, shut away there in the village prison to await this day of reckoning, with, if the word should go against him, a still further day of reckoning ahead.  A day when the cleverest brains of the law schools would be arrayed against him, and he would have to go through the awful tragedy of a trial in open court.  What was a mere coroner’s jury to that possibility?

Then too, perhaps in spite of evidence, they might let the boy off.  There was a chance in that matter of the I.O.U., which he himself had found in the pocket of the dead man, and which was signed in the name of Lester Stark.  Stark was due at the inquest to-day, to give his side of the affair.  There was a possible loophole of escape.  Would Nigel be able to get through it?  That was the question.

The inquest was set for two o’clock.  From eleven onward the great house began to fill with expectant and curious visitors.  Reporters from local papers, and one or two who represented the London press, turned up, their press-cards as tickets of admittance.  Petrie was stationed at the door to waylay casual strangers, but any who offered possible light upon the matter, eye-witnesses or otherwise, were allowed to enter.  It was astonishing how many people there were who confessed to having “seen things” connected with the whole distressing affair.  By one o’clock almost everyone was in place.  At a quarter past, ’Toinette Brellier arrived, dressed in black and with a heavy veil shrouding her pallor.  She was accompanied by her uncle.

Cleek met them in the hall.  Upon sight of him ’Toinette ran up and caught him by the arm.

“You are Mr. Headland, are you not?” she stated rather than asked, her voice full of agitation, her whole figure trembling.  “My name is Brellier, Antoinette Brellier.  You have heard of me from Nigel, Mr. Headland.  I am—­engaged to be married to him.  This is my uncle, with whom I live.  Mr. Headland—­Mr. Brellier.”

She made the introduction in a distrait manner, and the two men bowed.

“I am pleased to meet you, sir,” said Brellier, in his stilted English, “but I could wish it were under happier circumstances.”