“Now, about this letter, Mr. Beverley?” he was asked when his chief evidence was over.  “Did you see it at all?”

“I didn’t see the actual writing.  I saw the back of it.  Mark was holding it up when he told us about his brother.”

“You don’t know what was in it, then?”

Bill had a sudden shock.  He had read the letter only that morning.  He knew quite well what was in it.  But it wouldn’t do to admit this.  And then, just as he was about to perjure himself, he remembered:  Antony had heard Cayley telling the Inspector.

“I knew afterwards.  I was told.  But Mark didn’t read it out at breakfast.”

“You gathered, however, that it was an unwelcome letter?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Would you say that Mark was frightened by it?”

“Not frightened.  Sort of bitter—­and resigned.  Sort of ’Oh, Lord, here we are again!’”

There was a titter here and there.  The Coroner smiled, and tried to pretend that he hadn’t.

“Thank you, Mr. Beverley.”

The next witness was summoned by the name of Andrew Amos, and Antony looked up with interest, wondering who he was.

“He lives at the inner lodge,” whispered Bill to him.

All that Amos had to say was that a stranger had passed by his lodge at a little before three that afternoon, and had spoken to him.  He had seen the body and recognized it as the man.

“What did he say?”

“‘Is this right for the Red House?’ or something like that, sir.”

“What did you say?”

“I said, ‘This is the Red House.  Who do you want to see?’ He was a bit rough-looking, you know, sir, and I didn’t know what he was doing there.”

“Well?”

“Well, sir, he said, ‘Is Mister Mark Ablett at home?’ It doesn’t sound much put like that, sir, but I didn’t care about the way he said it.  So I got in front of him like, and said, ’What do you want, eh?’ and he gave a sort of chuckle and said, ’I want to see my dear brother Mark.’  Well, then I took a closer look at him, and I see that p’raps he might be his brother, so I said, ’If you’ll follow the drive, sir, you’ll come to the house.  Of course I can’t say if Mr. Ablett’s at home.’  And he gave a sort of nasty laugh again, and said, ’Fine place Mister Mark Ablett’s got here.  Plenty of money to spend, eh?’ Well, then I had another look at him, sir, because gentlemen don’t talk like that, and if he was Mr. Ablett’s brother—­but before I could make up my mind, he laughed and went on.  That’s all I can tell you, sir.”

Andrew Amos stepped down and moved away to the back of the room, nor did Antony take his eyes off him until he was assured that Amos intended to remain there until the inquest was over.

“Who’s Amos talking to now?” he whispered to Bill.

“Parsons.  One of the gardeners.  He’s at the outside lodge on the Stanton road.  They’re all here to-day.  Sort of holiday for ’em.